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*MAY 19 1933 ^ 





And Truth alone, where'er my life be cast, 

In scenes of plenty or the pining waste, 

Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last. 

Cowper's Expost ulation 








My dear Sir, 
I have not found the active duties of a ministerial life 
favourable to the cultivation of poetic composition. The 
fault rests not certainly with the great themes of the Chris- 
tian faith which are continually revolving in the mind, for 
what range of subjects can vie with them in magnificence of 
conception or depth of interest, but in the mind itself, apt 
to be overborne by the prosaic character of that every-day 
life, in which we are called to mix, in carrying out the work 
of our Master. So at least I have found it ; and my harp, 
such as it is, has in consequence been for many years hung 
up, till the strings have rusted with exposure to the wind 
and rain. It pleased God however, last winter, to visit me 


with so severe an affection of the sight, as to make it neces- 
sary to abstain for two or three weeks from even the smallest 
use of my eyes for reading and writing, and I was therefore 
compelled to devise expedients for hllmg up the time thus 
thrown on my hands. Amongst other things, I was tempted 
to cast an occasional meditation into a metrical form ; and 
to this exercise the greater number of the pieces in this little 
volume owe their origin. This, I doubt not, will be deemed 
a sufficient apology for their composition ; and if a further be 
required for their publication, I must leave them to speak 
for themselves : if they have nothing to say for me, I can 
have nothing to say for them. They must plead their own 

And now let me thank you for the privilege permitted me 
to inscribe this little volume with your name. It is a name 
associated with my earliest recollections. In my boyhood, 
my mind was attracted with the genuine poetry in your com- 
positions ; since then, the advance of years has opened to me 
another excellence of far higher character, which I did not 
at that time either understand or appreciate, the piety and 
love of truth with which they are imbued — the salt, by 
which alone any writings may hope to be preserved from 
corruption. I have no doubt you will agree with roe, that 
truth is the essence of poetry, as the Scriptures are the 
fountain of truth, and that whatever poetry is not saturated 
with this element must perish, whatever the amount of talent 


elicited, whenever the world returns to its rightful Sovereign, 
and the principles of truth universally obtain. 

As I well know that the language of even lawful panegyric 
would not be pleasing to you, I shall merely add, that I bless 
God, that you are enabled in your advanced life to illustrate 
the reality and power of the truths you have inculcated in 
your writings ; evincing how fully able they are to sustain 
and cheer amid the evils of our present condition, and to 
gild the future with the bright hope of an immortality of 
glory. That every blessing from a God of blessing may be 
your portion, is the sincere prayer of, 
My dear Sir, 

Your faithful friend and servant, 

J. A. Latrobe. 

Kendal June 26, 1850. 









LOYE 17 

JOY 19 








































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HOPE 148 


STORM 156 



LIGHT 164 




THE lord's SUPPER 177 

music of the church 179 

the works of god 180 

canova's tomb 182 

the sword 187 

TRUTH 190 

truth versus PEACE 193 














con'i t.\ rs. 

PA 61 



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Page 119, line 1, rend eye. 




Stay me the wheels of Time ! will nothing stay 

This headlong progress thro' Life's little day ? 

Since first I stepped the fiery car within, 

And yoked my spirit to this ceaseless din, 

An unit, millions of mankind among, 

All by one mighty impulse borne along, 

Time sternly hath forbade one moment's space, 

Awhile to breathe, ere he renew his race : 

Still onward sweeps the busy train, 'mid chime 

Of sounding clocks — O stay the wheels of Time ! 

Full many a year since I my course began, 
The child of Time when once the child of Man, 
The world's great rail-course opening to the view, 
As soon as born, when all around was new — 


Ill quick succession pass the scenes of life. 
They come, they go, with joy and sorrow rife ; 
And now a storm, and now a sunny ray, 
And now the night, and now the bright' ning day — 
Thus whirled right onwards in this wild career, 
Time gives no sign of pause — full many a year. 

Shall the wheels ever run ? Is Time a horse 
That needs no respite in its breathless course ? 
See how he spirits along his car of fire, 
With nought to feed him but his own mad ire ! 
See how he hurls to heav'n his clouds of steam, 
All 'fore him shrouded, misty as a dream, 
"While scenes behind, as we the race pursue, 
In all their various tracks, are thrown to view ! 
Can this for ever last ? Time ne'er have done 
His destined work ? — Shall the wheels ever run ? 

Hark ! the shrill whistle sounds ! now Time may stay, 

And yield some little respite on his way. 

A year hath closed — much may the past recal, 

Much for conjecture what may yet befal ; 

Xow catch the roving thoughts ere wholly spent, 

And ask, "What are we ? whither are we bent ? 

Peer thro' the mists that cloud the mental eye, 

What tracks yet future in the distance lie — 


Well may we hail, in hope at length his bounds 

Time now hath reached — Hark ! the shrill whistle sounds ! 

It sounds a term of days, but not the less 
Speeds on its course of seeming recklessness — 
The last short moment of the year that's gone 
Trod on the heels of the first opening one, 
And the faint gleams of morning splendour shine 
On the huge mass still dragged along the line. 
Not one brief gasp delays the rushing train, 
Which hurls man on in pleasure or in pain ; 
And still as ever roars the steam, and wheels 
A thousand millions, following at its heels. 
The change of year is but a turn, no mark 
Attests, so gently passing in the dark. 
Time notes it, but, once started, no delays — 
The whistle sounds, — 'tis but a term of days ! 

On speed the wheels of Time ! The ceaseless roar 
Resounds through hill and dale, o'er bog and moor ; 
Still dashing onwards with relentless pace, 
Breathes the hot breath, a dragon in a race ! 
Well, let him go — 'tis vain to curb his force, 
Who steams thro' sixty centuries his course, 
'Tis vain to seek to cool his fiery breath, 
And vain to escape his boon-companion, Death — 

B 2 


For Death and Time are leagued, while here on earth, 

To claim dominion o'er each mortal's birth. 

'Tis God's decree, and on the car is graven, 

Man once shall die, and then or hell or heav'n — 

Thus, chartered with its cumbrous load of crime, 

What arm shall stay its course — on speed the wheels of Time ! 

Kedeem the Time — 'tis bootless then to care — 

While moving onwards, for your life prepare ! 

What tho' all future in the mist is thrown, 

Howe'er concealed, enough may yet be known. 

The Kccord of past ages open lies, 

There may you read man's former destinies, 

The register of good and ill may scan, 

The deeds that marked and doomed your fellow man — 

The Present spreads around you, and each scene 

Bids you compare what is with what hath been. 

And lest, thro' blindness, still involved in night ; 

Heav'n sheds the glow of a life-giving light, 

The Word directs the eye to Bethlehem's Star, 

The one sole Saviour, beaming from afar, 

Who Death hath conquered, and prepared the way 

To make Time serve you, heralding the Day ! 

Thus then, rejoicing in these truths sublime, 

Lay hold on Life — Kedeem the passing Time ! 


I cannot curse the Earth, tho' far 

And wide sin's trophies rise, 
Tho' Satan drives his conquering car, 

And holds his revelries, 
And, smit by Vice's baleful star, 

The bloom of Virtue dies. 

I noted deeds beneath the sun 

That stained Earth's guilty breast — 

I marked the oppressions that were done, 
The tears of the oppressed — 

I saw, and comforter was none 
To give the weary rest. 


I marked around Wrong rear his head, 

High in the scorner's seat, 
Now rob the poor man of his bread, 

Now trip the blind man's feet — 
I saw the rich his table spread, 

Yet have no power to eat. 

I felt the shock of earth, while towers 

And towns in ruin lay — 
I saw her spout her flames in showers 

That turned the night to day — 
T heard Earth's groans, as lordly powers 

Armed hand 'gainst hand to slay. 

I saw red Pestilence breathe its blight, 
And blast the hopes of Spring — 

I heard, while Ruin, veiled in night, 
Rode on the tempest's wing — 

All seemed to rob Him of His right 
Who claimed to be Earth's King. 

Yet cursed I not the Earth, for still 

The hand of God is seen — 
And vale and champaign, stream and hill, 

Grove, forest, flow'ret mean, 


The mighty sea, the rippling rill, 
Proclaim, here God hath been. 

The flower that decks the lowly vale — 
The tree that towers on high — 

The breath that freshens to a gale — 
The star that gilds the sky — 

Each has a voice to tell its tale, 
The Lord our God is nigh. 

Yet more — there is a speaking sign 
That Satan's power is broke, 

A secret spell of Truth Divine, 
That soothes the oppressor's yoke, 

Ready, sin's reign to undermine, 
When vengeance is awoke. 

There is a world the world within, 
Where souls are born to God, 

Whose faith surmounts the rule of sin, 
Who tread the path He trod, 

With shield to guard and sword to win, 
With peaceful sandals shod. 

These are the salt of earth — while they 
Their even path pursue, 


Pour forth their prayers from day to day, 

And trim their lamps anew, 
While lirm they bear them on the way, 

Nor heed the world, tho' few. 

"While these are found, and year by year 

Nurslings of heav'nly birth 
Spring up, and high their blossoms rear, 

Shielded from blight and dearth, 
Tho' all around be dry and sear — 

1 cannot curse the Earth ! 



Not in the Night, not in the darksome Night, 
Came forth man's frame, all fashioned of red earth, 
With breathing soul, offspring of wondrous birth, 
In shrouded being, nought to meet the sight, 
But in the glory of unclouded Light : 
Earth in its beauty opening 'fore his eye, 
Heav'n stretched above, a spangled canopy, 
The mighty records of their Maker's might ! 
And if too soon the eye of man grew dim, 
And night of chaos swathed the scene again, 
And high o'er Eden's gate the Cherubim 
Waved his sword-flame, the earth now Satan's den, 
Lo ! forth the Day-spring beams, and wakes the hymn, 
' Glory to God above, Peace and good-will to men ! ' 
b 5 

10 man's destiny. 


If of the Day, if of the lightsome Day, 
New-born from out the realms of Nature's night, 
Thine eye drinks in the fount of living light, 
And thy glad spirit, basking in the ray 
Of Faith's full sun, speeds on its joyous way, 
While all around thy hallowed thoughts engage, 
And Earth once more becomes man's heritage, 
And spreads its fruits, and will not say thee nay — 
Fling off the shadows of this world's fond dream ! 
Robe thyself in the Light around thee poured ! 
Bask in the sunshine of the Eternal Beam ! 
Walk on Faith's pathway, guided by the Word ! 
As he, who erewhile washed in Siloe's stream, 
Came seeing, and own'd Jesus as his Lord ! 


Heb. xi. 16. 

I never yet in all my years have trod the heav'nly shore, 
And seen the city that I seek, and the King whom I adore ; 
I never yet have heard his voice and gazed on his seven-fold 

And breathed the atmosphere of Heav'n, since first my race 

begun ; 
Yet stirs a secret consciousness my restless soul within, 
That will not be put down, despite the dead'ning draughts 

of sin, 
That not for this world was I framed, when from his plastic 

I came in naked beauty forth — There is a better Land ! 

'Tis true there's much of happiness in a world that's ruled 

by Time, 
So fitly with the things around our outward senses chime — 


For the eye delights abroad to range 'mong scenes that meet 

its view, 
The lake, the hill, the vale, the stream, and the sky of pearly 

And many a happy hour is spent where smiling faces meet, 
And many a pleasant herb and flower lie scatt'red at our feet, 
Yet seasons come of gushing tears and cares our hours de- 
And the thought alone can cheer the soul, There is a better 
Land ! 

Then Fancy weaves its secret spell, and Alls the raptured eye 
With its rich inward paintings of scenes without a sigh, 
Of freedom from all carking care, and joy of every sense, 
Mid groves with teeming fruitage stored, and gales of frank- 
And the bliss of constant fellowship mid whirling dance and 

And the glitter of gay plumage the pleasant groves among, 
And a river's gentle windings — all by the enchanter's wand 
Called forth to grace the pictured scenes of Fancy's better 
Land ! 

Yet not the secret consciousness of an immortal life, 

And not the weariness of woe when pressed by want or strife, 


And not the glittering hues of a fancy's gorgeous dream, 
In a garden of delightsome joys beneath a cloudless beam, 
Can give a certain presage true of glories yet to come, 
And point the care-worn wand'rer to a shelter and a home — 
Faith sees the Paradise alone, for 'tis by faith we stand, 
And in the Word is mirrored forth joys of the better Land ! 

A land of brooks and waters that flow from forth the hills, 
A land of vines and fig-trees, where the olive-oil distils, 
Where the sun glows yet burns not, where the moon no 

blighting sheds, 
Where fell disease o'er sons of men no more a death-cloud 

Where hunger, thirst, affect not, nor tears bedim the eye, 
And all the joys of Earth sublimed before the Presence lie, 
And but one atmosphere of love pervades the happy band — 
Here may the restless Fancy rest — This is the better Land ! 

Here gleams the golden city, sure stablished on the Rock, 

Whose deep foundations dread no storm, nor know the earth- 
quake's shock — 

Here throng all nations of the blest, one heart, one mind, 
one will, 

While shouts of joy and loud acclaims the courts of Zionflll — 


Here angels with the saints of God upraise the lofty hymn, 
The cherub with his wing of strength, and the burning se- 
Here dwells the Lord of light with his sceptre of command, 
A rule of perfect love and peace — This is the better Land ! 

O for a heart imbued with love, from all distraction free, 
Whose home is in these blest abodes where we ever wish to be, 
With breathings after nobler aims than mark this twinkling 

To feel with Paul, c from hence to go 'twere better much by 

far ' *— 
For as frail Fancy hath not brought these glories to the sight, 
But God himself hath imaged forth the bliss with pen of light, 
So none but He, who oped the gate by his nail -pierced hand, 
Can give the soul to know and feel, This is the better Land ! 

* Phil - i- 23. tto\\<$ yap /jlclWov Kpei<j<rov. 



O what is Love, Life, Light to me ? 
The pledge of freedom to the free ! 
Type of the blessed Trinity ! 

Love sent His Son this earthward way — 
Life snatched from Death's rude grasp his prey- 
Light turned the darkness into day. 

Life breathed in man the breath of life — 
Light shewed the way with blessings rife — 
Love Med the soul once torn with strife. 



Light spake the word, and all was light — 
Love shrunk not from the cross's fight — 
Life brought all glories to the sight. 

Hail to the undivided Three, 

AVhose love, light, life all work for me, 

One in essential Unity ! 


GAL. v. 22, 23. 



To love, where love is shewn to me, 

With smile a smile to greet — 
Where tempers, tastes, and thoughts agree, 

In friendship's bonds to meet — 

To light at other's torch the flame, 

And burn, one common fire — 
To list the chord, and strike the same 

On a responsive wire — 


This were not hard, 'twere but to own 
The force of nature's might, 

Who ever wakes a kindred tone, 
Where harmonies unite. 

But for the living torch to burn, 
Tho' all around be chill — 

Where kindly acts meet no return, 
To feed love's fervours still — 

To keep the heart in tune, despite 
A war of jarring sounds — 

Still to preserve the affections right, 
And love, where hate abounds — 

This, this is hard, for nature spurns 

To render good for ill, 
And hot the angry spirit burns, 

Harsh rules the ungoverned will. 

'Tis grace alone can mould the heart 
This gentle power to prove — 

'Tis grace alone can grace impart, 
And teach the soul to love. 

LOVE. 19 

O Thou, who art the Source and Spring, 

Of our new nature's birth, 
Love brought Thee down, that Thou might' st bring 

Love to this wretched earth. 

Light Thou my torch by Thine own flame ; 

So shall it ever glow, 
A light to mark from whence it came, 

Thro' all the fogs below. 

Light Thou my torch, a living sign, 

While thro' this world I rove, 
A child of love, a child of Thine — 

For Thou, my God, art Love ! 


There is light in the soul that is beaming with joy, 

Yet not ever the sunlight of Truth, 
While the child in its childishness sports with its toy, 

And wild is the laughter of vouth. 


Far and wide may you hear the outburstings of mirth, 

While the pledge to the pledger is given ; 
As the sounds float along, you might deem that the Earth 

Was a part or a province of Heav'n. 

Yet the shout and the laugh as they burst on the breeze 

Are rebuked by the objects around ; 
For the winds sigh and moan as they sweep thro' the trees, 

And seriousness spreads o'er the ground. 

As if conscious they live in a world that's forlorn. 

The creatures man's recklessness blame ; 
The hyaena may laugh, but its laugh is in scorn, 

And the mock-bird responds to its name. 

'Tis as if they proclaim' d that the most of delight 

They might hope in a world under ban, 
Is in solitude camily to feed out of sight. 

From oppression and clamour of man. 

Then what shall be said of the shouts of man's mirth, 

Borne along as the breezes sweep by ? 
Engender' d of sin, they have sprung from the Earth.. 

With the death of the Earth th'ev must die. 

JOY. 21 

Are then joy and delight ever chas'd from the soul? 

May the features a smile never wear ? 
In gloom of the night must our years ever roll ? 

Is our wisdom alone in despair ? 

Ye Heav'ns rejoice, and be joyful, O Earth ! 

For glad tidings of joy spread around, 
And Nature that scorned to respond to man's mirth, 

Lends her voice to re-echo the sound. 

The joy that may spring from man's spirit of pride 

Sinks down in the gloom of his night ; 
But the joy of salvation shall ever abide, 

Jehovah, its Life and its Light ! 

Unknown to the world and rejected with scorn, 

Wherever its tokens are found, 
It lives in the breast of the child that's new-born, 

Abounds, where its well-springs abound. 

Full glorious, however reviled by the tongue, 

All troubles of earth it defies, 
It feeds on the manna that springs where it sprung, 

And soars upward, a child of the skies. 


Then give me this joy, thou Sun of my soul ! 

Bless Thou, and my song shall be bless' d — 
Shed Thy grace o'er my path, while my days ever roll, 

And 1 leave to the worldling the rest. 

A foretaste of joys in the life still to come 

May the whole of my being employ, 
Till, raised from the dust, I arrive at His home, 

In whose presence is fulness of Joy ! 


Let not your heart be faint, 
My peace I GIVE TO YOU, 

Such peace, as reason never plann'd. 
As worldlings never knew. 

'Tis not the hush'd repose, 
That bodes a tempest nigh, 

Or lures the heedless mariner, 
Where rocks and quicksands lie. 

PEACE. 23 

Tis not fall' n nature's sleep, 

The stupor of the soul, 
That knows not God, nor owns his hand, 

Tho' wide his thunders roll. 

'Tis not the sleep of death, 

Low in the darksome grave, 
Where the worm spreads its couch, and feeds, 

No hand put forth to save. 

It speaks a ransom' d world, 

A father reconcil'd, 
A sinner to a saint transform' cl, 

A rebel to a child. 

It tells of joys to come, 

It soothes the troubled breast, 
It shines, a star amid the storm — 

The harbinger of rest. 

Then murmur not, nor mourn, 

My people faint and few; 
Though earth to its foundation shake, 




When thoughts unbidden toss the mind, 

And vex the heart and will, 
How sweet to hear the Saviour say ; 

Peace, troubled soul, be still ! 

Why grieve because this frenzied world 

Disdains to be thy home, 
And lifts the hand, and points the tongue ? 

I have the world o'ercorne ! 

Why grieve because thy brother-man 

Eequites thy good with ill ? 
The wrong is his, make it not thine : 

He is thy brother still ! 

Turn thine eye inward, mark the pride, 

The tossings of unrest : 
There roots of bitterness abound — 

These heave and vex thy breast. 

There spend thy wrath, the inbred sins, 

That feed a fount of flame, 
While the flush' d cheek and eye of tire 

The source of ill proclaim. 


The world could never harm, were not 

The seeds of evil there ; 
This points the dart thy brother aims, 

This checks the lip of prayer. 

Go, purify thine heart by faith — 

Faith is the Christian's shield — 
The helmet of Salvation take, 

The Spirit's weapon wield. 

Then high above all earthly care 

Thy freeborn soul shall rise, 
And, far from fogs of this dull earth, 

Breathe in ambrosial skies. 

What is the world to him, whose soul 

Lies 'neath the Almighty's hand, 
Who still would fain, on seraph-wing, 

Soar to the Better Land ? 

And what a brother's wrongs to one, 

Who hopes above to meet 
That brother, where all wrongs are laid 

Low at the Saviour's feet ? 


Then spurn these clogs, and look to Him, 
By whom due strength is given, 

And leave the griefs and wrongs of Earth 
For all the joys of Heav'n ! 


Unhappy he whose pleasure 
Is ever found in strife ; 
Self-love, his chiefest treasure, 
Turmoil, his joy of life — 
Who finds what e'er he meeteth 
Awake a scorn or sigh, 
And casts o'er all he greet eth 
Hues of a jaundiced eye. 

Xot such the gentle Saviour, 
While here on earth He staid ; 
With meek and kind behaviour, 
He every grace pourtrayed — 
Mocked rudely by the scorner, 
He calmly bore their pride, 
"While each heart-broken mourner 
He gathered to his side. 


Tho' fierce and angry faction 
His Spirit strove to oppress, 
O'er every word and action 
Shone meek-eyed gentleness — 
Harsh elements around Him 
In jarring tumult join'd, 
All eager to confound Him, 
And shake His constant mind. 

But as, when vapours, rising, 
Crowd on the ascending sun, 
His brightest beams disguising, 
Checked, ere his race be run, 
Awhile his light seems broken, 
As up he ploughs his way, 
And gathering clouds foretoken 
A dark and joyless day. 

But soon from depths emerging 
He sheds around his smile, 
The upper regions purging 
From exhalations vile ; 
The very clouds, back springing, 
He tinges with his rays, 
O'er earth and heav n flinging 
Unutterable blaze. 
c 2 


Thus He, our nature wearing, 
Mov'd on his even way, 
To all, to each, his bearing 
Shone as the light of day : 
Each season of Temptation 
He met with placid mien, 
Intent on man's salvation — 
Peace in His looks was seen. 

The poor, the maimed, the stranger, 
The Publican and Scribe, 
The courtier, desert -ranger, 
All men of every tribe, 
Found in Him ready kindness, 
Tho' oft His soul was rent ; 
Chidings for wilful blindness 
With gentleness were blent. 

Give me Thy Spirit, Saviour ! 
Give me to act like Thee, 
AYith meek and kind behaviour 
Toward friend or enemy — 
Thus, whatsoe'er betide me, 
I shall, thro' good or ill, 
If but Thy Spirit guide me, 
Evince that Spirit still. 



I passed along a desert-land, 
A wide-spread waste on every hand ; 
No herb or fruitful tree — all bare — 
The dews of Heav'n fell not there. 

I pass that region onee again, 
And lo ! a rich and fruitful plain ; 
"Where erst but arid sands had been, 
Luxuriant blooms the verdant scene. 

On every side full-waving corn, 

And flow' ring beds where once the thorn ; 

'Mid borders green a river flows, 

The desert blossoms as the rose. 

From death to life, how changed the view ! 
Old things are past, and all is new — 
I mark the change, and muse awhile, 
What thus hath made the desert smite. 

What makes the land to yield her might *? 
What lays her prostrate with a blight ? 
I, saith the Lord, I kill, I save, 
1 make a garden or a grave ! 


Goodness of land, thus speaks the "Word, 
Reflects the goodness of the Lord ! 
'Tis He who gives the power to give — 
'Tis He who bids the dead to live ! 

If heav'nly dews no channel fill, 
The barren heart is barren still, 
No flower, no fruit within it grows, 
No stream throughout its border flows : 

But weeds and thorns for evermore, 
Like apples on the Dead Sea's shore, 
A land of fire, and salt, and dearth — 
Fit emblem of a cursed earth ! 

Let but th 5 Almighty's breath once blow, 
And Heav'n its genial rains bestow, 
And dews drop down, and the Great Giver 
Pour thro' the sands Life's teeming river 

The land once brimstone now awakes, 

And of the heav'nly good partakes, 

The draught, with quenchless thirst, it drains- 

The dust no longer dust remains. 

FAITH. 31 

Outspreads the green grass in that hour, 
Upshoots each herb and summer -flower, 
While trees and lofty shrubs forthspring, 
Where rests each bird of every wing. 

And now -Earth puts her beauty forth, 
From East to West, from South to North, 
And once again man finds his food, 
Again the Maker speaks it good. 

And such man's heart, if good there be, 
The goodness comes alone from Thee ; 
Thistles and thorns the deserts own — 
If blooms a flower, 'tis Thine alone. 

The new creation works within, 
And life becomes the death of sin ; 
Then wastes a sevenfold harvest yield, 
And man's heart blooms, a fruitful field ! 


' Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief, 5 
Thus spake the poor man in his hour of grief, 
Seeking to Jesus, praying for relief. 


1 O Lord, increase our faith/ his followers said ; 
For well they knew, from Him their daily bread, 
And well they marked his love unlimited. 

Thus stands it with the sinner and this grace ; 

By nature unbelief alone hath place ; • 

From Him the gift, from Him the wish'd increase. 

' Lord, we believe,' we humbly dare attest ; 
' help the unbelief that sways our breast ; ' 
' Increase our faith,' for here alone is rest. 

Give Thou this grace, to Thee our souls we lift, 
From weeds of unbelief our bosoms sift, 
Give Thou this grace, for thine alone the gift ! 

Thou wilt not grudge, we have not much to bring— 
AVeak faith, tho' in itself so poor a thing, 
Thou dost not scorn, with true heart sorrowing : 

Yet would' st have strength of faith, that shall defy 
All power of hell, spurning all blocks that lie, 
And will not yield till Death itself shall die. 

See how from smallest of all seeds there springs 
The mustard-tree, till wide its arms it flings, 
And bids birds nestle in their flutterinofs. 


Thus Faith, how weak soe'er its risings, grows, 
Deepens its roots, its branches broadly throws, 
And heav'nward points, despite each storm that blows. 

Faith lays its hand, where, tow'ring in their pride, 

The everlasting hills, unshook, abide, 

And hurls them whelmed in the foaming tide. 

Such is Faith's strength, its steady growth, its rise ; 
How mean soe'er it seem in human eyes, 
It stands, it bursts the gates of Paradise. 

Yet Earth may never yet a base afford — 
Firm lay its deep foundations in the Word, 
For all is vain, if not, Thus saith the Lord ! 

Grant me this faith, in this alone I stand ! 
I live, I breathe, I move by thy command, 
"Weak, yet all strength, upholden by Thy Hand ! 


Who, tossed on a tempestuous sea 
Woidd not a haven gain ? 

What captive burn not to be free ? 
What pilgrim rest disdain ? 
c 5 


Man strives to reach the wished -for boon 
All through his life's short day ; 

He strains to grasp, but ah, too soon 
The bubble bursts away ! 

How should the restless compass rest ? 

The sinful cease from sin ? 
Tho' coat of mail defend the breast, 

The tumult reigns within. 

Come, learn of me, the Saviour said, 

The lowly and the meek, 
My burden on your shoulders laid, 

You gain the rest you seek. 

For calm within that spirit lies, 
Where I have whispered peace ; 

Tho' wild without, all trouble flies, 
All tossing tumults cease. 

What makes the burden gall and fret 
But waywardness and pride ? 

The wild bull struggling in his net 
But closer pins his side. 


Then, child of man, the Saviour meet. 

Nor sink in dark despair ; 
Thyself and thine cast at his feet, 

Lay thy proud spirit there. 

If He his banner plant where sin 

Hath reared its crest of pride. 
He casts it forth, and pours within 

A peace that shall abide. 

Seek then to Him in each distress, 

'Tis thus he soothes the breast, 
5 Mid elements of restlessness 

He gives the weary rest ! 


The bounties of a God of grace, 
The blessings of his power, 

On sons of earth, man's sinful race, 
In rich effusion shower. 


lie gives, and spreads his gifts around, 
He metes to each his part ; 

The manna lies upon the ground — 
Eat with a grateful heart. 

He grudges not, but wide extends 
His gifts to all that will ; 

Earth's table 'neath his bounty bends ; 
Take freely, eat your fill. 

Yet, man, beware — the food is thine ; 

Not for abuse 'tis lent, 
Cast not to dogs the bread and wine — 

Thy meal's a sacrament. 

With thankful heart thine eyes uplift. 

And pledge thyself anew, 
Behold the Giver in his gift, 

Eeturn the praises due. 

Gather the fragments from the board, 
Let nothing run to waste ; 

Nor heap the manna in thy hoard, 
Lest, spoil'd, it taint the taste. 


These are Thy gifts — O give with them 

A soul to understand ; 
Nor ever let my heart condemn 

The movements of my hand. 

From all excess O keep me free ! 

Means with the end combine, 
While yet, in Christian liberty, 

I all enjoy as Thine. 

Give me thy richer gifts, O Lord, 

The glories of thy grace, 
The full provisions of thy board, 

That cannot know excess. 

Give me Thyself — on Thee I wait, 

Thy body and thy blood : 
In Thee thy gifts all concentrate — 

Give me Thyself, O God ! 


Hail, Sun ! the earth hath longed for thee, 
While bowed beneath the yoke of night, 

And now each herb and flower and tree 
Sheds tearful dewdrops of delight — 

And, as thou gird'st thee on thy way, 

One glowing welcome greets the day ! 

True, many suns by night have gleamed, 
And spangled rich the heav'ns with gems, 

And broad the expanse in splendour teemed 
With coronets and diadems — 

But vain to us their lights abound, 

Flaming too deep in the profound. 


Suns tho* they be, with worlds that wait 
Around them, moving in their course, 

And, for the homage of their state, 

Draw light and heat from them their source, 

To us the glory from afar, 

But twinkles as a midnight star. 

But thou, O Sun, our spring of day, 

Thou dost thine office to this earth — 
We cast all slough of night away, 

And joy in thy renewing birth, 
While brighter worlds beneath thy rays, 
When forth thou steppest, pale their blaze. 

But hail ! all hail ! Thou greater Sun ! 

In whose light we alone see light ! 
We track thy car-wheels, as they run, 

Without Thee all around is night — ■ 
In light of worlds our eyes may see 
Reflection of Thy power and Thee ! 

Pour on my soul thy rising beams, 

Wake np each thought to high desires, 

Shake off all gloom of earthly dreams, 
Till my heart burn with hallowed fires, 

And all the brightness of my days 

Be lost in glory of thy rays ! 


Yet, as the hours the day renew, 

Clouds dim the splendour of thy light ; 

There creeps an earthiness of view 

That turns too soon the day to night — 

E'en the most gorgeous visions fade, 

Each hue slow sinking into shade. 

O for that Morn of morns, begun 
When all of earth shall pale and die, 

When springs the Resurrection-sun, 

When sounds the Trump, the Lord is nigh ! 

And souls from out the earth's wide range, 

From glory unto glory change ! 

Rise, heavenly Sun ! wake, hallowed morn ! 

When Christ shall take His might and reign, 
When all his ransom' d hosts, new born, 

Again their Paradise regain, 
When our full waking powers shall be 

Lost in His love's immensity ! 



Well, and what then? You've seen strange things to-day, 

Blind, deaf, and lame regain their faculties, 

The palsied bear the couch on which he lay, 

The leper cleans' d, the dead from death arise ; 

And stranger far than all, O sight of awe ! 

You've gazed on Him who gives the worlds their law ! 

Yet 'tis a sight more passing strange than all, 

Than blind, and deaf, and lame their health regain, 

Than palsy rising at the Master's call, 

Than leper healed, death raised to life again, 

That man, in vision of the Lord of Day, 

Should rest on this : " We've seen strange things to-day ! "' 

42 THE DAY. 

That He, who rules the planets at His will, 

Should bid His own creation cease to be, 

Give life or take it, curb each power of ill, 

The winds control, or still the raging sea — 

This were not strange ; 'twas ever thus, as now, 

The strong puts forth his strength, the weak ones bow. 

But that the Prince of Life should tread this earth, 
Mingle, a man, with sinners of mankind, 
Wake up all nature to renewing birth, 
Be to the deaf man ears, eyes to the blind, 
Girded with power divine, drive demons hence, 
Bring back to man the reign of innocence — 

That He should bid all come to Him who will, 

The most unworthy choosing for His friends, 

'Mid unbelief and rancour patient still, 

Mocked, bruised, and bleeding, till his life he ends, 

Again to rise that we in Him might rise 

And share with Him the joys of Paradise — 

At grace like this, to mark poor wretched men 

A deaf ear turning to the offered good, 

In stupid wonder look and look again, 

Nor seek the boon, but spurn a Saviour's blood, 

THE DAY. 4 3 

While yet in search of bliss their wishes range 
O'er earth — this, this is strange, passing strange ! 

How must the angels, their loved Lord attending, 

Their hearts on fire Kedemption's work to scan, 

Have shudder' d, shame with earnest pity blending, 

In deep amaze at thoughtlessness of man, 

And, soaring upward at the sun- set, say, 

With blushing face : " We've seen strange things to-day ! " 



While on this world night's shadows slowly roll, 
Lord, lift thy countenance upon rny soul ! 
Thou know'st not darkness, where Thou shin'st is light 
And all is dark, if shrouded from Thy sight. 
I would be Thine — and yet my wish how vain ! 
Fierce is the fight, sin plucks my heart in twain : 
I would be Thine — but hateful self and pride 
Wield their hard sceptre, and thy rule divide ! 

Thou bidst me seek Thee, and to Thee I turn, 

But fires of hell within my bosom burn ; 

Thou bid' st me pray — my rude and half-formed prayer 

Bv rush of thoughts evanisheth in air ; 


Thou bicTst me watch — my eyes their vigils keep, 
Yet in the hour of danger sink to sleep ; 
Thou bicTst me persevere — my aims to-day 
To-morrow's dreams, like chaff, drive far away. 

O dost Thou yet pursue Thy ransomed child, 
Seek me, tho' wandering, love me, tho' defiled? 
Is there yet hope, Thou wilt my Saviour be, 
The Lion's cheek-teeth break, and set me free ? 
Tell me Thou art my strength, and 1 am strong ! 
Tell me Thou art my hope — I raise my song ! 
Tell me Thou'rt mine, I then shall faithful prove ! 
Tell me Thou lov'st me, and my soul shall love ! 

' I love thee, sinner ! but lovest Thou me ? 
Say, is this love, to feed unhallowed fires ? 
My subject, 'fore sin's altar bow the knee, 
And fix on evil joys thy heart's desires ? 

watch and pray, the promised strength is thine, 
Lean on mine arm, and walk the narrow way ; 
Thy love of world and self to me resign — 
Take up my cross, the cross of every day. 

1 Lo ! far beyond the Towers of Salem rise, 
Fling on thy path a living lustre down — 
Can'st thou refuse, 'neath these dim, murky skies, 
With cross in hand, to press to seize the crown ? 


The crown is mine, and was not mine the cross ? 
Would' st thou one seek, the other fain forego ? 
Eternal life is won by this life's loss, 
And bliss immortal based on mortal woe ! 

' Then follow me, as day treads after day ; 
With heart and eye of light thou need'st not fear : 
Beneath the darkest cloud bloom flow' rets gay, 
Beams the soul's smile, where springs affliction's tear- 
Tho' shades of night their gloomy mantle roll, 
And number out thy sands of being run, 
Faith hails each wakeful star, till on thy soul 
Morn breaks — up-springs the Kesurrection-sun ! ' 


How evenly Time keeps his course, 
And will not stoop his sweeping wing ! 
Let night her dusky shadows fling, 
He bears him as a frightened horse ; 
He knows his path, he speeds his way, 
The hours he summons in his train, 
With nerves full strung and constant strain, 
He presses to the opening day. 

Then, as he marks the light afar 
Give token of the morn begun. 
His hand upon the rising sun 
He lays, and yokes him to his car. 

48 TIME. 

Mounts up with him the flaming steep, 
Xor in his course one moment stays. 
But crowns his forehead with the blaze, 
And guides him gently toward the deep. 

Tho' claims the sun to cherish life, 
And glad the earth, while fruits around 
Spring 'neath his influence from the ground, 
Joy shedding in a world of strife, 
Time deems him but a tool to mark 
To man the portion of his clays, 
And, handling bold his burning rays. 
Makes him divide the light and dark. 

As with a pen, he guides each ray, 
And writes upon the Dial's face, 
That men may count what further grace 
Is given to lengthen out their day ; 
Then, as the sun were bound his slave, 
He drives him o'er the mountain's crown, 
And will not let him rest, till down 
He plunges in the western wave. 

Farewell to light, but not to Time ; 
He slips the chariot of the day, 
And all the livelong night his way 
He winsrs — and to the clock's dull chime 

TIME. 49 

He ope's man's ear, if closed his eyes, 
And warns that Time can know no rest ; 
By day or night, from East to West, 
From West to East, his wing sweeps by. 

Then vain to seek a moment's grace, 
If Time will not a moment pause, 
But bears us breathless by the laws 
That bind him to his breathless race — 
'Tis vain to wait, since as a dream 
Is all of life, I seize each hour, 
And give it to the Lord of power, 
And list his voice — The Time Redeem ! 


Ah ! little, little should I heed, 

Tho' every tongue were forked with ill, 

And harsh the look, and rude the deed, 

And scorn and hate pursued me still, 

Did not I bear a load within, 

The soul's own plague, a heart of sin ! 

Tho' made the sport of every wind, 
Tho' the whole earth cast out my name ; 
Tho' friends and foes alike combined 
To vex my soul and blast my fame, 
Were not the heart in thought and deed 
A plague, ah, little should I heed ! 


The thing I hate I yet pursue ; 
The thing I love I leave undone ; 
The good I would I fail to do ; 
I do the evil I should shun ; 
I will to do the good I see, 
But how to do is not in me. 

Christ hath his banner wide imfiuTd — 
Fierce spirits 'fore his Presence throng ; 
Two natures claim this little world, 
One ever right, one ever wrong ; 
And tho' the mastery He gains, 
They never leave while life remains. 

Woe's me ! shall ne'er these struggles cease ? 
Shall ever toss my heaving breast ? 
Shall war ne'er end in perfect peace ? 
None hush the tumult into rest ? 
Thanks be to Him who died, for He 
Hath gained o'er Death the victory ! 

Strength of my heart ! O Lord ! who here 
The vexed strife of sinners bore, 
When fierce the tempests rage, be near, 
And calm the sea, and hush its roar ! 
Thou art my Strength — I turn to Thee, 
Give grace, Thou shalt my Helper be ! 
d 2 




O tyrant soul ! Low long shall I thus trudge 
To do thy bidding ? how can'st thou so grudge 
The little respite Nature's boon bestowed, 
But heap'st on weary shoulders load on load ? 


Peace ! know'st thou not the righteous doom that gave 
Thee and thv members aye to be mv slave ? 



No ! I was made thy servant, to fulfil 

The high behests of our great Master's will, 

When thy desires were moderate, and confined 

To the blest station He for thee designed. 

When Love, the master- spring, nerved every thought, 

I ever strove to gain the object sought ; 

If bade to come, I came ; if go, I went ; 

To do thy will my whole of being bent. 

Pleased were the hands to pluck the fruit around, 

To prune each lawless vine, and till the ground : 

When did the ear refuse the sounds convey 

Of the voice walking in the cool of day, 

Or, if thy longings prompted thee, the feet 

Not haste to bear thee, thy loved Lord to meet ? 

When thy heart moved, so moved the lips to express 

The inborn breathings of thine happiness. 

Did the eyes dull their glance when flamed the sky, 

In token that thy Lord and mine drew nigh ; 

Or in the Presence bent not down the knee, 

And the voice speak its faith and loyalty I 

Then pure thy thought, and gentle thy command, 

And glad obeyed the eye, the foot, the hand ; 

But now, all fallen from thy high estate, 

Thou deal'st untruly by thy willing mate, 


And, rebel to thy Lord, His will not thine, 
Break' st down by tyranny these powers of mine. 
Such thy wild longings, plans that would require 
A frame of iron sinew, limbs of fire, 
That I, a thing of clay, overladen gasp, 
Victim of schemes beyond a mortars grasp. 


Ha ! taunt' st thou me with that unhappy fall, 
That cast me forth to wander Satan's thrall ? 
"Who wrought that breach of rule but thou ? thine eye 
First gazed, when rose the Tree of beauty nigh ; 
Thou lend'st thine ear to meet the serpent's suit, 
And thine hand stretched to pluck the tempting fruit ; 
Thine own lips kissed it ; and whate'er of pleasure. 
Met the lured taste was thine, not mine the treasure : 
The whole was thine — how darest thou charge on me 
The one sad act that made a slave of thee ? 


What ! was I not thy servant then to pay 
Allegiance to thy rule, and own thy sway P 
Could I in Paradise, without thy will, 
Move hand or foot, thy ready servant still ? 
True, my feet carried me the Tree beside, 
And 'twas mine eye the golden fruit espied, 


'Twas my ear caught the lure by Satan bribed, 
My mouth partook, my frame the juice imbibed — 
But say, what secret spring my actions moved, 
That I thus faithless to my Maker proved ? 
Bound by Him to thy rule, I had nor power 
Nor will to act without thee in that hour. 
1 went, thou bad'st me go : eye, hand, and foot, 
Obeyed thy bidding, when I plucked the fruit. 
Thine was the sin, and thou the guilt must bear, 
And I but doomed thy punishment to share, 
As ever since — 


Enough ! it matters not 
On whom the sin, each doomed to his own lot ! 
Bound yet in union as before, not less 
Partner in guilt, as erst in happiness, 
Thou still my servant art — 


But not thy slave ! 
Thou break' st my strength, and bring' st me to the grave. 
But not for this was I so wrought, to be 
The ground-down victim of thy tyranny. 


I am of bounded being — urge me not 

Beyond the bounded powers assigned my lot. 

Full strength have I for what my strength was lent ; 

With food and raiment I were well content. 

And I have hands to work, grudge not the pains 

From the cursed earth to win the needful gains, 

And, filling up my daily course, supply 

My daily wants, till strikes the hour, I die. 

Yet this thou scorn' st — thy eager, grasping mind 

Casts forth desires, wild, fickle as the wind, 

"Would' st bid me stride the earth, and raise on high 

My hands to pluck the planets from the sky. 

I'm fall'n, weak, diseased in every core, 

Somewhat I fain woidd do, but cannot more ; 

Up to my measured strength, my strength I give, 

Beyond is death, in this alone I live. 

Then urge me not ; let me thy servant be, 

And not thy slave, I gladly follow thee. 

Use me without abuse, then claim my best, 

My choicest labour — give the weary rest ! 


Just thine appeal ! Yet if thine eye grows dim 
And thy hands tremble, falters every limb, 
If thus thy worn out powers the sooner must 
Mingle with that they sprung from, dust to dust, 


Is it not better so to wear away, 

The associate honoured of a child of day, 

A ladder, where a being of high aim, 

And noble aspirations after fame, 

May mount toward heav'n, than in sloth to lie, 

A thing to eat, drink, slumber in thy stye, 

Like the poor brutes around, who bend their head, 

And have no power above the clods they tread 

To lift- their gaze ? What if by me thy frame 

The sooner join the dust from whence it came, 

Who heeds the scaffolding the builder rears, 

When the high dome in form complete appears, 

Or mourns, that the burst shell a ruin lies, 

In sign the bird hath won her native skies ? 


Ah ! would 'twere so ! but what these great desires, 
But thoughts blown out by hell's unhallowed fires r 
In busy restlessness thy highest aim 
Is but to win man's breath, and gain a name ; 
Now all thine energy of mind and will 
Bent, as the highest good, thy chests to fill ; 
Now slaving me to lusts, that I may shroud 
My wasting powers beneath disease's cloud ; 
Now urging me in contest hot to fight, 
Trampling too oft upon another's right ; 
d 5 


Breaking my strength to back some wildering scheme 

Of mad ambition, baseless as a dream ; 

Now pushed to mingle in red ranks of war, 

My limbs to lose, my vital blood to pour ; 

Now driven to tempt the deep, no loftier aim 

Than love of gold, or maddening thirst of fame. 

The Inst of flesh, of eye, and pride of life, 

These raging rule, or moved by love, or strife, 

For these my powers are drained and prostrate lie, 

That thou may'st taste the all of vanity. 

Not that I stand unscathed ; thy joys possess 

My willing members in their restlessness, 

While, stung with ill, in every vein I find 

The poison work that marks us of one mind. 


If thus on low and meaner views I'm bent, 
'Tis that I drink thy grosser element : 
This weds my wishes to each meaner thing, 
This clouds the spangled glories of my wing. 
Kept thou thy place, I yet might soar on high, 
Nor on Time's trifles waste my energy, 
But ever as I plume my wings to rise, 
Thou makest me grovel with thy vanities, 
My draggled pinions trailed along the ground, 
To earth's pursuits and fleeting pleasures bound. 


Why waste reproaches ? Plain the same spells bind 
Thy baser form and my aspiring mind. 


And must we thus run on, like horses, driven 

On the broad road, afar from God and Heav'n ? 

If evil both, if earthward be thy aim, 

All that engross thee but an empty name — 

If I my members lend, constrained thy mate, 

Sharing thy toils, to share thy coming fate — 

If thus my carnal nature thro' thee burn, 

And thou constrain my service in return, 

And both unite the willing slaves to be 

Of that fierce spirit who first tempted me — 

Why not seek help ? Must thou for ever shew 

A rebel-front, and I no respite know ? 

I see that other worlds bestud the skies — 

Hast thou no longings after Paradise ? 

Thine is the mind, be but thine the will, 

In right or wrong I am thy servant still : 

Speak but the word, eye, ear, and hand shall bring 

Acts of full service to the rightful King. 


I heard thy speech, and wrath arose — but now 
Some spell hath power, my high-flown longings bow. 


What sounds from Heav'n come pouring through thine ear, 

The first since Paradise woke words of fear ? 

' Glory to God, peace and good will to earth/ 

Wakes my glad spirit to a second birth. 

I hear the sound — it soothes the troubled breast, 

f Come weary, heavy laden, here is rest : 

On Calvary's hill a Fount of blood is seen, 

Wash in this Jordan, wash, and thou art clean ! ' 

Turn we then back to Him who bids us turn ; 

W r e both have sinned, let both repentance learn. 

Lend me thy knee, we bow before hi^ throne, 

And soul and body His subjection own : 

That our sins nailed Him to the accursed tree, 

Fountains of tears thine eyes shall ever be, 

W^hile with thy hands uplifted we implore 

His grace and goodness, beaming evermore. 

Then while the heart thus throbs with fervent love, 

And gleams the brow with radiance from above, 

Thy willing feet shall aid my willing mind, 

His ways of righteousness and works to find ; 

Till, having measured forth my term, I rise 

Up to the gates of the lost Paradise. 

Thus thou, the sad associate of my sin, 

The slave of fiery lusts that raged within, 

No more shall mourn my restlessness of will, 

Tho\ bound in union, thou my servant still, 


But join with me thy ready heart and hand 
To do His pleasure, follow His command. 
And when the Trumpet sounds to call the dead 
To grace His coming as the Church's Head, 
Thou, on the Last Day's Morn, who long hast lain, 
And crumbled to thy mother-earth again, 
Shalt with new life instinct to Heav'n upspring, 
Clothed in the image of the Eternal King, 
Once more with me before the Throne to bend, 
Sharers of bliss, complete and without end ! 



How proud a thing is Man ! The earth he treads 
As 'twere his footstool, plucking at his wdl 
Her fruits, his ample storehouses to till, 
While all her creatures 'fore him bow their heads. 
Heav'n on his path in full abundance sheds 
Her choicest tributes, while the lord of day 
Goes forth his charioteer to speed his way. 
And the moon stirs for him the ocean-beds. 
O'er mightiest elements his wand he waves, 
And air, fire, flood, crouch 'fore him as his slaves. 
And e'en the worlds of space his fingers span ; 
While all of nature's works that spread around, 
Above, beneath, none know but Him, aye bound 
To do His will — so proud a thing is Man ! 



How vain a thing is Man ! A point, a pin, 

May bring to nought his crumbling house of clay, 

And loose his spirit on an unknown way ; 

So low the lofty when imbued with sin ! 

What recks the Earth for him w T ho once hath been ? 

The meanest flower droops not, or shuts its eye, 

Beasts still their pastures seek, and birds the sky, 

And Earth blooms on, nor heeds the dust within ! 

What recks the sun ? anew he wakes the morn, 

Hangs not the heav'ns in black, his beams unshorn — 

What of the dead, his blessing or his ban ! 

While fire, flood, air, no more his power attest, 

Earth, as for one of earth, opes but her breast 

To screen him from the view — so vain a thing is Man ! 


Lord, let me rightly scan my earthly state 

In all its vanity, in all its pride ! 

A spark of seraph-life, and yet belied 

By grosser elements, a clogging weight ! 

Once master of the world, but since, ingrate, 

Man spurned the rule of Him who gave him power, 

Now sunk to be the slave, when, in a sad hour, 

He lost his love, and drunk the serpent's hate. 



Yet once again he springs on seraph-wing, 
Pluck' d from the thraldom of Hell's baleful King, 
Redemption's boundless glories free to scan ; 
In angel-dignity again to abide, 
While clothed in dust, his lowliness his pride — 
O ! that Thou thus regard' st him, what is man ! 


What sense shall aid the search ? I seek to learn 
Tidings of other worlds, for who shall bind 
The immortal spirit to its fleshly urn, 
Thirsting to rove in freedom unconhned ! 

Let every pulse then strive 
To grasp a higher being — Look and Live ! 

Forth stretch the hand, and ask the willing touch 
To reach yon nearest star so bright — Mas ! 
It cannot measure forth of space so much 
As its own tomb along the dewy grass ; 

So bounded in his span, 
So cramp' d within his tenement is man ! 


Sweet odours spice the breeze that onward sweeps, 
And greet the smell., and to the soul convey 
An inward pleasure redolent of sweets, 
The breathing fragrance of the opening day — 

Yet from no star they come, 
In you rich flowery meads they find their home. 

I touch and taste. Fair is the fruit to view, 
With rosy cheek, in sweetness passing sweet ; 
Yet may you mark the vineyard where it grew, 
Scattering its treasured bounty at your feet. 

No fruit from the far heav'n 
Woos the fond lip, for dust to dust is given. 

I list the song. Soft voices rill the ear, 
And tuneful songs float soothingly along ; 
Borne on the breeze, it seems now far, now near, 
"While mystic harmony the strains prolong. 

Yet, as they wax and wane, 
Heav'n owns them not — 'tis but an earthborn strain. 

Touch, taste, smell, hearing — not a gleam 
Thro' them gives note of other worlds than this ■ 
Xo hues of heav'n light up the soul's fond dream, 
And ope out vistas of yet richer bliss. 

Were man to these confined, 
Here must be ever bound the immortal mind. 


Yet that His simple child may have some sign, 
Tho' here shut up within his earthly frame, 
God plants upon his front an eye to shine, 
A window to reveal from whence he came, 

Where he may take his stand, 
Lay hold of other worlds — as with a hand. 

Boundless the range ! what tho' the eye lacks might 
Suns of unnumbered systems to embrace, 
They shed their glories on the ravished sight, 
As if there planted, but to do him grace ; 

And tidings bear to earth, 
Man, tho' a creature form'd, hath an immortal birth. 

Thus he attains some knowledge thro' the eye — 
While taste, touch, smell, and hearing cleave to dust, 
And bound to earth, their earthbred habits ply, 
It shoots beyond the sphere, fulfils its trust, 

Tells of a world where sense 
Shall wake again in blissful innocence. 

O for Faith's eye to see his works in Him, 
Who lighted up the gate of Paradise ! 
Who rais'd our spirits from these shadows dim, 
And bade from nature's tomb the dead arise, 

Chas'd far the shades of night, 
And fill'd the awakened eye with his lifegiving light ! 


Yet, when all senses but the sight alone 
Seemed doom'd within their narrow cells to lie ; 
Blazed in mid Heav'n a light, whose glories shone 
Beyond the range of the far-reaching eye — 

God bade the ear receive 
Power to imbibe the glory — Hear and Live ! 

The eye may light the mind — God wants the heart, 
And sends His word to usher in the Day ! 
What might the view of other worlds impart, 
While unreveal'd the Life, the Truth, the Way ? 

The glory beams around, 
Thro' the oped ear pours in the joyful sound. 

Then let the heart awake, since not to sight 
Hath God alone all other worlds revealed ; 
Else should the eye's faint seeing sink in night. 
And its full range be as a fountain sealed. 

If now it see its Lord, 
'Tis that the ear drinks in the saving Word ! 

O kindle, Lord, this light in me, outshine 
All other suns; and from thy glory's Throne, 
Far drawn in the abyss, beam forth the sign 
Of covenant -love, and light me up thine own ; 

Then centre, in full liberty, 
Sight, touch, taste, smell, and hearing — all in Thee ! 


Know* st thou the heart of a stranger, 

So desolate, woe-worn, and lone, 
From the palace all down to the manger, 

With nothing to call his own ? 
A father he has, hut not near him, 

A mother's love once was his ; 
None care to know him or cheer him, 

None ask him to share their bliss. 

He marks man his fellow-man greeting 

With smiles, but they light not his face ; 
Hears their laugh in the joy of their meeting, 

None to give him a cordial embrace. 
No friend at hand bids him good-morrow, 

No father embraces his child, 
No wife shares the weight of his sorrow : 

He feels all alone in the wild. 

70 HOME. 

Far, far o'er the earth have I wand' red, 

And all strange still around me appear ; 
Thoughts throng' d in my mind as I pondered, 

And ask'd myself, What do I here ? 
I dream' d in some night of my sorrow, 

At length I might now cease to roam ; 
But I struck my tent-cords on the morrow, 

For I felt, not on earth was my home. 

The sands of the desert surround me, 

Let me wander wherever I may ; 
Xo places of rest yet have found me, 

And night ever sets on my day. 
And my heart still is bent on its roving, 

Like a dove shaken loose from the nest, 
Its wing o'er the wilds ever moving, 

In restlessness seeking its rest. 

And yet I've a Home and a Father, 

Tho' I linger to meet his embrace, 
There are friends who around me shall gather, 

And cheer me, when finish' d my race : 
Tho' darkness surround me and danger, 

And I mourn my sad lot as I roam, 
On Earth I am ever a stranger. 

In Heav'n alone is my Home. 



Whither away, my soul, my soul, 

When sleep hath closed mine eye, 
When shades of night around me roll, 

And dead my members lie ? 
Now thou art free abroad to roam 

Where'er thy wishes stray, 
Homeward, if thou hast found an home, 

In light, if of the day. 

Thou vauntest of thy high degree, 
Breath' d from the breath of God ; 

Thou murmurest at the hard decree. 
That chain' d thee to a clod — 


Sure then, when the fagg'd body lies, 

And the cage door's undone, 
The bird will seek its native skies, 
In glory of the sun ! 

How will it sweep with upward wing, 

Its kindred heav'n to gain, 
Spurn from its foot each meaner thing, 

Earth's pleasure or earth's pain ! 
"What aims and aspirations high 

Must now its thirstings own, 
Eager with saints above to vie, 

And bow before the Throne ! 

But what the history of the night 

When thou hast run thy round ? 
A blending chaos of dark and light, 

With a wilderness of sound ; 
Shiftings, and mockeries of lies, 

Possession and no gain, 
Rude forms and hideous phantasies, 

The shapings of thy brain ! 

Strange scenes of ill the vision meet, 
Wrought in the human heart ; 

Judgment has wholly left her seat, 
Conscience forgets her part — 


'Twould seem as if the soul were brought, 

Back to its native night, 
God's rule no more in all its thought, 

His glory not in sight. 

Then whither away, my soul, my soul ! 

Return, with me abide : 
Thou hast so little self-control, 

If sever' d from my side. 
But what, poor soul, shall be thy lot, 

When we shall parted be, 
Who can so little guide thy thought, 

Without my company ? 


'Tis true, I am my fancy's sport, 

When by thy sleep set free ; 
'Tis true, my strivings fall far short 

Of a full liberty ; 
Yet boast not of the wildering maze, 

Thro' which my visions roam, 
Nor deem, unless my spirit stays, 

I ne'er shall find a home. 

Ask, why so profitless my dreams, 

Aimless and full of lies, 
So ready to believe what seems, 

The sport of flatteries ? 



'Tis thou that breath'st thro' all my powers 

Thine own carnality ; 
'Tis thou that rul'st the nightly hours, 

And worm'st thyself in me ! 

If far and near T wildly range 

Like an unbitted horse, 
Tis that my reason needs a change. 

To recruit its wasted force — 
It sleeps ; and, freed from its control, 

The virus in thy veins 
Works in strange fancies, till the soul 

Reason from sleep regains. 

Yet what the excursions of my brain, 

Wild thrillings of my breast, 
But strainings fond the heav'ns to gain ; 

Convulsive throes for rest ! 
Who blames the captive bird's wild spring, 

When the far land it spies, 
Tho' all unlike the full, free wing, 

That sweeps its native skies ? 

But let be loosed the pinion' d cord, 

Straight to its leafy groves, 
From out its cage's prison-ward, 

It seeks the home it loves ; 


Xo longer flutters, strains, and frets, 

As in a circle bound, 
Forgets its cage, its food forgets, 

Pursues its aim, till found. 

Thus while with thee I slumber here, 

Bound by thy fleshly chain, 
I roam a murky atmosphere, 

'Mid phantoms of the brain : 
Let Death my prisoned spirit free 

From thee and all of earth, 
It proves in life and liberty 

Its own immortal birth ! 

E 2 


Let them be oxe ! thus spake the Word 
And bound their hands and hearts in one. 

The woman and her rightful lord, 

While ever wheels of time shoidd run — 

But soon Death comes, and snaps the chain. 

The two no longer one remain ! 

The parent presses to his breast 

His own dear child in tenderest love. 

Finds in his image balm and rest. 
A symbol of the bliss above — 

But fondly tho' the parent cling. 

Death comes, and leaves him sorrowing. 


'Tis thus with every earthly bond, 

Hand knit to hand, and heart to heart, 

Pure or impure, Death takes his wand, 
And friends most loved oft soonest part ; 

Nor tears avail, nor groans, nor cries, 

Death will not yield his victories. 

Yet hath the voice been heard again, 
Let them be one ! and, in that hour, 

The tenderest sympathies remain, 

And in Christ's strength defy Death's power — 

He hath not won, tho' husband, wife, 

Or child, pass with the passing life. 

The bond survives in brighter skies, 
And higher worlds and richer bliss, 

Where purest love all change defies, 
Fraught with an innate happiness — 

One in the Lord, nor storms, nor fate, 

Nor life, nor death, can separate ! 

Dear child, my child, by closer tie 

Than closest of the ties of earth, 
Seal of the gospel-ministry, 

Born to my prayer by second birth — 
Death cannot snap the chord — we meet, 
Parent and child, at Jesu's feet ! 


Thou art thy flock enfolding, 

Blest Shepherd of Thy sheep ! 
Their each affection moulding, 

Rous' d from their nature's sleep — 
Here one and there another 

Prom earthly bonds set free, 
Friend, Husband, Parent, Brother, 

All bonds they find in Thee ! 

Each thronging generation 

That crowd this world of sin, 
Of every tribe and nation, 

Here rest Thy fold within — 
Once gathered in Thy border, 

Led by Thy gentle rod, 
Secure from all disorder, 

They find repose in God. 


How joyous is this gathering ! 

They come constrained by love, 
The storms of trouble weathering. 

As homeward flies the dove ; 
The rich and poor attending, 

In sun-light of the Truth, 
The old, his hoar-head bending, 

The young man in his youth. 

How sweet of Heav'n the savour, 

-Though in a world of woe ! 
To bask beneath His favour, 

Feed where the lilies grow ! 
Each step of life to hallow, 

Repose the stream beside, 
Where He goes forth, to follow, 

Where He abides, abide ! 

O heav'nly Shepherd ! feed us, 

Ingather'd from the waste ; 
To Life's full fountains lead us, 

And pasture us in haste : 
For still the storms surround us, 

And still rude passions rise — 
O Thou, whose love hath found us, 

Take us to Paradise ! 


What scenes of glory fill the soul 

Of the redeem' d above ! 
They breathe, while ages o'er them roll, 

An atmosphere of love. 

They roam the groves of Paradise, 
As those whose work is done — 

The towers of Salem 'fore them rise, 
Tipt by the sevenfold sun. 

They know no want, they feel no care, 
They loud Hosannas sing — 

Fulness of joy with Him they share, 
Their own anointed King, 


Yet we, in this dull atmosphere, 
Would fain our hearts persuade, 

That joys substantial nestle here, 
True joys among things made. 

So earthward are our minds, we sigh 
To think of those once gone, 

As if to truest bliss they die. 
And we to bliss live on. 

Thus while the dead we happy deem, 
Our thoughts our tongues bely — 

Their joys we count a shadowy dream, 
Our joys reality. 

fond conceit ! 'tis we that dream ; 

Our substance is but shade ; 
They see what to our minds but seem— 

Our senses are betrayed ! 

But half alive, e'en tho' we live, 
When joys of heav'n descend, 

We know but half the bliss they give, 
So slight we apprehend. 

E 5 


While they, in groves of Paradise, 
Free from this earth-born leaven, 

Fill up their angel-faculties 
With all the bliss of heaven. 

for a soul to dwell while here 
In sunlight of Thy love, 

Thus shall all joys of earth appear 
But types of joys above. 



The world is in disorder, 

Discord and strife abound, 
Throughout her widest border 

No rule of right is found — 
Time notes, as fast and faster 

He speeds, nor stoops his wing, 
A house without its Master, 

A realm without its King, 

Long has wild Eancy wand' red 

To seek His Dwelling Place, 
And many a century squand'red 

His royal seat to trace — 
Somewhere He must be hidden, 

In action or at rest — 
She seeks, in tracks forbidden, 

The Islands of the Blest. 


If once the western Ocean, 

Would give those Isles to view, 
And seal each poet's notion, 

Each fond creation true, 
How gladly would the nations 

Their ready service bring, 
And pour a world's oblations 

At footstool of their King ! 

Long time thick vapours clouding 

The illimitable main, 
The western waters shrouding, 

To Fancy left the rein ; 
But when bold Science, beaming, 

Pushed to the distant "West, 
! how unlike her dreaming, 

Those Islands of the Blest ! 

There might be balmy weather, 

There might be fruits untold, 
There might be birds of feather, 

There might be realms of gold, 
There might be groups of myrtle, 

And citron-groves and spice, 
The green sea might enkirtle 

An earthly Paradise, 


But there no King of glory 

His court of grandeur held — 
All was an idle story 

That fancy's eye beheld — 
For there each vice upshooting 

Inflam'd the savage breast, 
Pride, hate, and lust polluting 

Those Islands of the Blest. 

Thus knowledge ever proving 

The hues of Fancy vain, 
Man finds, where'er his roving, 

A Kingless world remain. 
Of royal pomp no token, 

No Throne, no sceptre's sway, 
All law despised and broken : 

And why ? The King's away ! 

O knew I where to find Him, 

Where fix'd His Dwelling Place, 
What blessed regions bind Him 

Within their fond embrace, 
How thither would I bend me, 

To rest beneath his Throne, 
Where Righteousness should tend me, 

And Truth His Sceptre own ! 


'Til well to seek — tho' regions, 

And lands and sprinkling isles, 
Shew not his mustering legions, 

Nor lighten with his smiles, 
Let but the eye awaken, 

Give but the hearing birth, 
No fear He hath forsaken, 

This vain, this wretched Earth ! 

What tho' no banner streaming 

His Kingly rule proclaim, 
What tho' all Fancy's dreaming 

Be but an empty name, 
His Church with glory filling, 

The lowly heart His seat, 
A people prompt and willing — 

The world is at His feet ! 

Hence, dreams of Fancy's weaving ! 

Hence, phantoms of the night ! 
Hence, specious lies deceiving ! 

We live by faith, not sight. 
There is a King here reigning, 

Whose power all grace adorns, 
The purple robe disdaining, 

His crown, a crown of thorns. 




His rule is Love, a power 

Than Death and Hell more strong, 
Shines brightest in the hour, 

When myriad sorrows throng. 
We wait His loved appearing — 

Soon shall our eyes behold 
The King our nature wearing, 

His City of pure gold ! 


When winds are lull' d to rest, 
And the blue heav'ns o'erspread your glassy sea, 
Like some proud dome, where man may bend the knee, 

And list his Lord's behest, 
Who marvels, that the fickle wave should lie 
So sweetly calm beneath so mild a sky ? 

When, far as sight may range, 
Dark clouds, surcharg'd with tempest, curb the deep, 
And fitful blasts along her surface sweep, 

Who then may think it strange, 
To mark the billows rise, and hear their roar, 
While ridging lines of foam swift course along the shore ? 


THE SEA. 89 

But should the azure main 
Defy the strength the blust'ring tempest brings — 
When, wroth, he broad unfurls his darkening wings — 

And lie, a glassy plain, 
All still and smooth within th' horizon's span — 
That were a marvel science could not scan. 

Yet have I seen a sea, 
Unstable as yon wave, as apt to rise, 
With each faint cloud that gathers o'er the skies, 

Mid wildest revelry 
Of elemental rage, above, around, 
Unruffled, calm, repose, in stilly slumbers bound. 

For such the child-like mind, 
When Christ the word hath spoken, Peace, be still ! 
Though in itself of most unstable will, 

Vex'd by each passion- wind, 
That Satan summons from the depths of hell — 
Yet have I seen it smile 'neath an Almighty spell. 

Blest those, who, mid the roar 
And turbulence of human passion, lie 
The hollow of His hand within, who rules the sky. 

And bounds the ocean- shore ; 
In Him secure, though toss'd upon the deep — 
The rudest storm that blows but cradles them to sleep. 


Go, shew me the land where my arm bears not sway, 
Thro' the breadth of the earth, where'er light speeds its way! 
Let a son of fall'n Adam, whatever his clime, 
Shew a truce with my rule, and a covenant with Time ! 

Erom the south to the north, from the west to the east, 
What is earth but a table to spread out my feast ! 
I traverse unchecked the far isles of the sea, 
And find in all regions a banquet for me. 

I love to confound the rich man in his pride, 
Bring him down with the beggar to lie side by side — 
Bolts and bars hold the captive, yet thick walls of stone 
At my call rend asunder — the caged bird is flown. 


All elements wait on the word of my might ; 
All creatures around me acknowledge my right ; 
'Gainst his fellow I teach man his weapon to wield, 
And I track to their prey the wild beasts of the field. 

In darkness I sport, as on Mizraim's plain, 
AY lien the breezes of night bore a wail for the slain ; 
And the eye, that has sunk in the slumber of rest, 
Oft closes its sleep in the earth's callous breast. 

I seize on a beam of the sunrise, and glide 
To the outermost border with Time side by side — 
In the hot sun of mid-day my arrows I steep, 
And leave the survivors to wonder and weep. 

I love to drink in the dank vapours of earth, 
Where the plague-spot and pestilence nourish their birth ; 
In the throng' d haunts of vice I breathe joyous and fre< 
For the sons of the night are bond-servants to me. 

Thus all Nature rejoices my prowess to aid, 

The earth and the air for my service was made — 

Fire-flame in its fury, the sea with its waves, 

Strew around me the dead, summon men to their graves. 


I have smil'd at the smile of a fond father's eye, 
As he gaz'd on his dear ones while I passed by, 
And I laugh' d when at nightfall I clutched my prey, 
And by water or fire-flash had borne them awav. 

Then where is a son of the earth that has might, 

To contest for himself or his fellows my right ? 

What prowess of man shall my prowess defy ? 

"When I lock up my dead, who shall raise them on high ? 

' Go, tyrant, and boast of the deeds thou hast done, 
The tears thou hast shed, and the crowns thou hast won ! 
Thy prowess as shadowy proves as thy form, 
Tho' thou breathe in the Zephyr, or ride on the storm. 

O'er the sons of men broad has thine empire spread, 
Till the Son of Man came to bring life from the dead ; 
Tho' proud be thy vauntings, foredoom' d in that hour, 
Thou wert reft of thy sting, and the grave of its power. 

Thou deem'd'st thou had'st slain Him on Calvary's steep, 
When He sunk on the cross, worn and wearied, to sleep ; 
But the morn saw the Conqueror burst from the Tomb, 
And thou prove the dead, in the grasp of thy doom. 


Since then, tho' we pass thro' the gates of the grave, 
By faith in His might all thy efforts we brave ; 
'Tis the most thon can'st do, in the earth's hollow breast, 
To prepare us our chamber, and rock us to rest ; 

While far from thy touch the glad spirit has fled, 
Where thy rule never comes, nor a wail for the dead, 
And e'en the poor shell, that thou guardest below, 
Shall rise to new life, when the Trumpet shall blow. 

Yet alas for the souls that bow down 'fore Hell's King ! 
Who rejoice in his rule feel the weight of thy sting — 
But to those who believe all thy terrors but seem, 
Tho' dreaded afar, the mere shade of a dream.' 

O Saviour, give faith while I sojourn below, 

Then calmly I look in the face of the foe, 

He may come, he may come — by a gleam from above. 

His form is transform' d to an angel of love ! 




How strange must death have seemed to those 
Who lived their life of thousand years, 

A life, as if 'twould never close, 
An immortality of tears ! 

Yet how should Time the sentence spurn, 

' As dust, to dust thou shalt return ! ' 

' The day thou sinnest thou shalt die ! ' 
Shall the day be, and not the doom ? 

Shall Death's dark shadows hover nigh, 
And never yet their master come ? 

Life to this wretched frame still cling, 

Despite the mandate of the King ? 


It may be, in his hours of woe, 

Thus thought the Father of mankind, 
As centuries crown' d his head with snow, 

And broke his strength, and sapp'd his mind : 
1 What meaneth then this constant strife, 
This battling with a dying life ? ' 

The mystic depths he fain would sound 
Of that dread sentence : Thou shalt die ! 

He felt how woe his nature bound, 
Yet knew not all of misery, 

For still he claimed the Earth his slave ; 

Not dust to dust its being gave. 

Something he knew of Death's dread power, 

When murder on the threshold stood, 
And armed a brother's hand to shower 

In hot dispute a brother's blood ; 
When the first martyr bowed his head, 
And the corpse lay — the first of dead ! 

' Is this then death ? ' we hear them say, 

The hoary fathers of our race : 
' Hath death to murder given the sway, 

Must ever blood his presence trace ? ' 
No ! Adam soon the fear belied, 
So calm and peacefully he died ! 


Xone rais'd the hand, no mortal struck, 
But down he sank in calm decay ; 

No wrathful words his spirits shook, 
In the soft sunset of his day ; 

His children round, his brows to lave, 

And smoothe his pathway to the grave. 

Yet must the sentence pass — he died ! 

Tho' long his life, Death claimed his right ; 
They laid him down his son beside, 

As one who slumbers thro' the night ; 
Then bowed their heads, nor grudged to own 
God's mercy with his justice shone. 

He died, and they must die as he ! 

God seals His truth on Adam's grave : 
True to his threat, they yet shall see, 

True to his promise, true to save — 
They mark God's truth thus verified, 
And Faith the motto wrote : He died ! 

Thus Death full soon had lost his sting 
To those who on the promise staid ; 

Tho', at the rustle of his wing, 

They shrink to tread the valley's shade. 

Yet, gilded by a heav'nly beam, 

Life passes, as a restless dream. 


He died ! words of fear to all 

Who turn their backs on Paradise, 
Who find the doom of Adam's fall, 

Nor in the Second hope to rise — 
How grossly has the serpent lied ! 
He bade man live — and lo ! he died ! 

If, in the light of this one word, 

Faith saw a Saviour still to come, 
And faint, 'mid clouds, the rays afford 

A glimpse of freedom from their doom, 
How gleams the glory on our sight, 
Effulgence of the gospel-light ! 

Age rolls o'er age — Time brings the hour ; 

The second Adam yields his breath, 
A moment lies beneath Death's power, 

Yet dying is the death of Death. 
I see the Conqueror crown' d with thorn ! 
I hail the Resurrection-morn ! 





To stand alone a world among, 

To live the subject of man's hate, 
To mark the weak oppressed with wrong, 

No power to help, to weep and wait, 
To have a strange, strange work to do, 

To build a huge ship on dry land 
Which never yet an ocean knew, 

Mid laughter wild on every hand, 

'Twere hard — yet such the lot enjoined 

The second father of our race, 
While all around a world combined 

To wake to wrath the God of grace ; 
And violence raged throughout the earth ; 

And all the secret thoughts that lie, 
In shameless acts proclaimed their birth, 

Evil and that continually. 


'Twas bis a monstrous ark to build, 

Framed by Divine command with care, 
Slow rising in the open field, 

With few the shame, the toil to share ; 
In unbelief their shafts they dip, 

And aim them home in mockery — 
' Lo ! here's a man who builds a ship, 

Then casts about to find a sea ! ' 

Where may the troubled spirit rest, 

The hand aye striving with the will ? 
What strength of purpose man his breast, 

Bound to a work so fraught with ill ? 
Wherein to fail, how deep the shame ! 

To prosper, ruin to his race ! 
O rather blasted be his name, 

So God might prove a God of grace ! 

How strong the faith, where all so strange, 

His work, the world, the word revealed ! 
Thoughts seemed as in a dream to range, 

So bright an earth to ruin sealed ! 
Tho' prospered by an arm Divine, 

How would he muse thereon and weep ! 
His hand's last stroke, the signal-sign 

To rouse the Deluge from its sleep. 
f 2 


Yet calmly as the seasons roll, 

Tho' thickly strewn his trials be, 
Nought shook the purpose of his soul — 

As God commanded, so did he ! 
Unruffled still he plied his task, 

Nor ceased to preach the uplifted rod — 
Whence came his strength? if any ask ; 

Where sprung his faith : he walked with God ! 

He wrought — Faith nerved his arm and will, 

Xo cloud yet gathered o'er the skies : 
Yet staid he not his labour, till 

The monstrous hull completed lies. 
Flew on their wings the birds of air, 

The various creatures tracked their way, 
As by one impulse mov'd to where 

On its broad side the vessel lay. 

Hark ! borne along the driving blast 

Hush torrents from the lurid sky, 
As if once more a watery waste 

The formless earth again should lie ; 
While bursting floods, from curbs set free, 

Shatter' d like crust, the yawning ground — 
Noah hath found the looked-for sea, 

And them that fearful sea hath found ! 


Upheav'd upon the swelling flood, 

Shook with the shaking earth, and tost, 
'Mid crash of elements, he stood 

The beasts among, nor deemed him lost — 
He heard the voice of storms without 

Outroar shrieks of a dying world, 
Yet hushed each throbbing fear and doubt, 

"While nature seemed to ruin hurled. 

He walked with God — this staid his soul, 

Till, when fulfilled the just decree, 
O'er a dead world the waters roll, 

Then slow, shrunk to their native sea. 
On a new world the Patriarch stept, 

Yet reeking 'neath the Almighty's rod ; 
His faith unshaken still he kept 

'Mid life and death : he walked with god ! 



And Abraham died, the Syrian born, 

Aged and full of years, 
Fell as a shock of ripened corn 

Beneath the mower's shears. 


If to the last lie onward crept 

A stranger in the land, 
So to the last his faith he kept, 

God's promise, that shall stand ! 

Thus, ere he died, he seal'd his right, 

And bought Machpelah's cave. 
A place to hide his dead from sight : 

His sole estate — a grave ! 
Yet not the less he saw the Day, 

Ere down his bones he laid, 
Rise o'er the Land with healing ray — 

He saw it, and was glad ! 

Tho' alien nations thick around 

His purchased cave abide, 
In faith he chose the hallowed ground, 

With Sarah by his side. 
He breathed forth his parting breath, 

In presence of his band, 
And calmly met the face of Death, 

A stranger in the land. 

Strange to the world thro' Life's long day, 
Strange in the pains of death — 

The covenant-oath his only stay, 
He felt the joy of faith ! 


A glory, beaming from the Throne, 

Lit up the Patriarch's eye — 
Living, he lived to Grod alone, 

And died, in Him to die ! 

Lord ! give the faith that Abraham moved, 

The love that made him cling 
To Thee, and to the flock he loved, 

The children of their King. 
May this, whatever else betide, 
- My one ambition be, 
My bones to rest their bones beside, 

My soul, God, with Thee ! 



■ Happy those, who wait to see 
Fulness of light and liberty, 
Riches of the promised Word, 
In Thy great salvation, Lord ! ' 
Thus spake Israel on his bed, 
Who a life of waiting led, 
School' d in patience from his birth — 
Weary wand'rer on the earth. 


Preordained, by will divine, 
The rich blessing through His line ; 
Heir to the stupendous grace, 
Promised for the human race ; 
When his hour of birth was come, 
Strong he wrestled in the womb, 
Panted for the covenant-seal, 
Seized his brother by the heel. 

Seemed the promise yet as nought — 
Who shall give the prize he sought ? 
Childhood passed and youthful age, 
Esau's was the heritage — 
Yet he waited — and full soon 
His the pledge, and his the boon ; 
Esau, fainting in the chase, 
Sold his birthright for a mess. 

Still he waited, tho' assured 
By his dying father's word; 
Forced by Esau's wrath to flight, 
Driven an outcast from his right — 
Then in school of patience tried, 
Long he waited for his bride ; 
And when won, mocked by his sire, 
Waited for his promised hire. 


Back to Canaan then lie turned, 
Hot the wish within him burned, 
Now at length the sun shone bright, 
Who shall bar him of his right ? 
But his waiting all in vain, 
Wanderer thro' the Land again, 
What he won with spear and lance 
Seemed his whole inheritance. 

Dark and darker loured the sky, 
As the eve of life drew nigh ; 
And his sons his grey hairs bring 
To the lone grave sorrowing — 
Joseph gone, and Benjamin ! 
Raged the storm his soul within — 
• Wilt Thou not some light afford 
Of Thy great salvation, Lord ! ' 

But the murkiest hour of night 
Ushers in the morning's light, 
And glad tidings spread around, 
Lives the dead, the lost is found ! 
There in Goshen's dwellings fair, 
Nurtured by his Joseph's care, 
As his springs of strength decay, 
Brightly shines the Light of Day. 
f 5 


Now a hand Divine lie sees 
Lift the veil of mysteries ; 
Richer mercies are in store 
For his seed than Canaan's shore ; 
Waiting long, yet not in vain, 
Tho' his life is in the wane. 
Star of Him who comes to save, 
Pour thy lustre on his grave ! 

1 Thy salvation/ Israel cried, 
' 1 have waited, Lord, to see/ 

Left his waiting, when he died, 

To his seed a legacy — 

But, in fulness of the Day, 

Hear the aged Simeon say : 
1 Now I die in peace serene, 

Thy salvation I have seen ! ' 



A life of strange reverses 

Was his, who lies beneath ; 
Now mocked by this world's curses, 

Now circled with her wreath — 


Tho' shifting changes bore him, 

A weed on waters wild, 
There was a hand held o'er him — 

The Lord was with His child ! 

While in Life's early morning, 

By fond affection blest, 
His dreams his brothers' scorning 

Aroused, and coloured vest — 
When their' s the hand of power, 

They sought to work him ill ; 
What saved him in that hour ? 

The Lord was with him still ! 

In a far land of strangers, 

A doubly bartered slave, 
'Mid great and varied dangers, 

With none to heed or save. 
There came a dark temptation, 

The fiend upon him smiled ; 
Where should he find salvation ? 

The Lord was with His child ! 

Again you hear his sighing, 

He drains affliction's bowl, 
Low in a dungeon lying, 

Bonds pierce his very soul ; 


Yet faith to him was given, 

He poured his heartfelt prayer ; 

There shone a light from heav'n — 
The Lord was with him there ! 

Now clad in regal splendour, 

The favored of his King, 
See thronging myriads render 

Each costly offering ! 
Thus raised to sit with princes, 

As low the people bow, 
To all his state evinces, 

The Lord is with him now ! 

Who come, their faces bending 

In homage of his state, 
From Canaan's bounds attending 

As suppliants at his gate ? 
He knows — awhile demurring, 

As tears his eyelids fill ; 
He feels, his dreams recurring, 

The Lord is with him still ! 

With him thro' life's long travel 
His Lord in truth abode ; 

He marked each course unravel 
Some purpose of his God. 


Through his eventful story 

The Lord fulfilled his word ; 
And now he lives in glory, 

For ever with his Lord ! 



Eoll back the cloud of ages past, 

And mark a roving band, 
Now ling' ring slow, and now in haste, 

Move on thro' Canaan's land ; 
With gathered flocks and herds they stray, 
Strangers and pilgrims by the way. 

They pitch their tents at set of sun, 
Strike them at opening morn ; 

Pursue then' course, no toil they shun, 
Eestless and travel-worn ; 

Who would not deem they held in quest 

Some sure resort, some place of rest ? 


And many a desert-waste they pass, 

And many a grove and hill, 
And many a vale of richest grass, 

And many a gushing rill ; 
Yet nothing tempts a longer stay, 
Than a cool rest till break of day. 

Still on and on, now East now West, 

Now North now South, their course they bend, 

Content to meet with food and rest, 

Their wearied flocks and herds to tend — 

Who are these wanderers ? what their aim ? 

Why not return from whence they came ? 

Death comes, and finds them journeying on, 
Sandalled and girded for the way ; 

He does his bidding ; one by one, 

They feel his touch, their powers decay ; 

But in their place their children roam, 

Homeless, nor ever find a home. 

How strange ! what was the land to these, 
When not a foot they call their own ? 

No other lands their longings seize, 
To this they cling, and this alone, 

Yet found no city — has some wand 

Charmed them to wander in the land ? 


A wand there was, yet not of earth, 

Nor yet of hell — a secret fire 
Burned in their hearts, and gave to birth 

Thoughts of high aim, and pure desire — 
And ever, as they journeyed on, 
Light from the Heav'ns before them shone. 

Their home, yet not their home — of rest 
A place, yet not their resting-place — 

This was their land — a promise blest 
Had sealed it to this chosen race ; 

And ever, as the plains they trod, 

They leaned on promise of their God. 

What tho' 'mongst alien tribes they strayed, 

And found no present refuge there, 
What tho' the promised hour delayed, 

And nought their food but faith and prayer, 
What tho' Death's shadows hovered nigh, 
And faint the heart, and dim the eye — 

Their' s was the Land — to Abraham given 

And sealed by oath his heritage, 
From him all nations under heav'n 

Should blessing find in coming age — 
They lived in faith, the Word received, 
And ever still in hope believed ! 


They died in faith — in God's good hour, 
The land they sojourned in was their' s — 

Tho' small and weak, an arm of power 
Wrest it, and gave it to their heirs, 

And bade the tribes of Israel's race 

Here found a sure abiding place. 

Was this the land the will Divine 
Prefigured in the Patriarchs' dreams, 

A land of olive oil and wine, 

A land of brooks and gushing streams ? 

Was there no other land than this 

To meet their breathings after bliss ? 

To them it proved a pilgrim-land, 
And when possessed a land of strife : 

The wasting sound on every hand ; 

War and not peace, death and not life — 

Can this console the wanderer's breast ? 

No better home, no surer rest ? 

Not this filled up the Patriarchs' eye ! 

Not this the promised Paradise ! 
They saw the Day-spring from on high 

Upon its hallowed borders rise, 
A sun to blaze on Israel's night, 
And o'er the Gentiles pour the light. 


This, this the search of these old men, 
Who journeyed long on eastern plains ; 

They died, in hope to live again, 
Assured to faith a rest remains ; 

Thus time, and change, and death defied ; 

In faith they lived, in faith they died ! 




Lo ! far and wide the desert-sands are scattered thick with 

Bleached in the sun they long have lain, all mingling with 

the stones ; 
High must the sin to heav'n ascend, when Earth denies her 

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at 

rest ! 


Here hath a mighty feast been spread, and the Lord hath 

called from far 
Earth's scavengers to clear away the slain by plague or war — 
Here throng' d to feed each unclean beast, quick speeding on 

its way, 
And the vulture threw its glance abroad, and swoop' d upon 

its prey. 

What mighty hosts have here been slain, and by what mighty 

hands ? 
Whence came these myriad bones that crowd the desert 

sands r 
Lift up thy voice along the wastes, and ask what cause hath 

been ! 
Hark, the somid floats upon the air, and echo answers, sin ! 

No thronging hosts of armed foes met here in deadly light. 
The cause to test by strength of arm to whom pertained the 

But brethren here of the same mould lie scattered side by 

Not by each other's vengeance slain, victims of hate or pride ! 

A mighty Hand and outstretched Arm had wrought for them 

the while, 
And rescued them from Egypt's jaws, the Dragon of the 



By deeds of fear He brought them safe, all thro' the charmed 

And led them forth upon the wild — a flock of timid sheep. 

The hand that plucked them from their foe, no more a living 

Now held a lamp in the mid air to guide them on their way, 
Opened the heav'ns when earth forbad, and gave them bread 

like rain, 
And made gush forth the barren rock its waters thro' the 


No lack had they, while on they went obedient to His hand, 
Nor Amalek by strength availed to check this favored band, 
Their foot nor swelled, nor clothes decayed throughout their 

wandering course, 
He guided sure their faltering steps, as a rider guides his 


Thus present plenty was their lot, hope cheered them with 

its sign, 
For their' s a Land of brooks and streams, of olive-oil and 

Tho' trials might them now befal amid the desert-sand, 
The wilderness was not their home, they had a better Land. 



Pledg'd with the seal of covenant-love, and girt about with 

The hope of Canaan's rest had cheered the fathers of their 

And, tho' the way was rough and long, they buoyed their 

fainting souls, 
With thoughts of goodly Lebanon, and the vale where Jordan 


Then who are these whose bleached bones a fearful story tell 
Of visions blurred and hopes destroyed of all men love so 

These never reached the promised land, these perished by the 

Some deadly foe the host hath slain, and where they fell, 

they lay ! 

O fearful thought ! 'twas the same Hand that broke the 

Egyptian's strength, 
And sure sustained their failing limbs all thro' the desert's 

That here hath dashed to earth their hopes, and by His arm 

of power 
Brought down their rebel-front in wrath, and slew them in 

that hour. 


For oft they raised their hand in scorn against their rightful 

And paid his richest acts of grace with words of murmuring, 
Till wrath arose beyond control ; He laid aside his rod, 
And bade earth, air, and fire proclaim, how dread the wrath 

of God ! 

No tomb or votive monument these hapless bones command, 
Their guilt and doom the light 'ning -bolt hath written on the 

sand ; 
There may you read the fearful tale, lest you His mercy 

For as the measure of His grace, His fires of anger burn. 

Then veil thy face, my soul, and note these marks of scathing 

And own how dread to rouse His wrath, since Jealous is His 

then, or 'neath His smile of peace, or 'neath His chasten- 
ing rod, 

Bound in the covenant of His love, Walk humbly with 
thy God ! 




c My flesh in hope shall rest ! ' 

The Psalmist smote his lyre, 
The Star of Hope illumed his breast, 

He burned with hallowed fire — 
' Tho' with the worms my bed I make, 
In His own glorious form I wake ! ' 

The Star o'er Bethlehem shone, 

When, as a shepherd-boy, 
His nightly flock he watched alone, 

While songs his hours employ, 
And list the voice of Cherubim 
Preluding soft the Advent-Hymn. 

The Star was in his eye, 

The hymn was in his ear, 
As he beheld, Goliath nigh, 

All Israel shake for fear : 
Shamed of their shame, he sought by fight 
The victory in his Master's might. 


Sprinkled with holy oil, 

He felt himself a king, 
Tho' yet exposed to want and toil, 

An outcast wandering : 
Hope linked with faith, he saw the star, 
And cheered him through his life of care. 

A King upon his throne, 

Glittering with many a gem, 
Brightly the star of glory shone, 

That lit his diadem ; 
Yet higher hopes his soul possess, 
A more enduring happiness. 

"With years and sorrows bowed, 

See him o'er Kedron go, 
Dethroned and fall'ii, 'mid curses loud, 

A man of tears and woe — 
Forth driven by his son, ingrate, 
Hope did not leave him desolate. 

Lo ! down the sloping west 

Descends life's rapid car ; 
While shades of night enshroud his breast, 

High culminates the star ; 
Tho' earth's scenes vanish, Hope remains, 
The Star that shone o'er Bethlehem's plains. 


Now gleams it o'er his Tomb ! 

His flesh in hope sank down — 
Soon shall the promised Saviour come, 

To claim His child His own ; 
Then shall he see, when Time is run, 
Hope's Star eclips'd in the life-giving Sun ! 



Knock at the Monarch's Tomb ! 

Bid him from sleep awake ! 
Back from his narrow chamber come ! 

Dust from his shoulders shake ! 
Clear him full range of view, to see 
How true his word — all vanity ! 

Where now thy golden throne, 

Thy gorgeous palaces, 
With gems tricked out from earth's mines won, 

And pearl-drops from the seas ? 
Where now T thy gardens of delights, 
Thy sun-lit days, and balmy nights ? 


Where now thy Salem's walls, 

Of Salem's sons the pride, 
Where heaped strange tribes within thy halls 

Their gifts from far and wide ? 
Where now thy bannered rule displayed ? 
Where the rich lands thy sceptre swayed ? 

And where the Temple ? where 

Jehovah's Dwelling-Place, 
The Gate of Heav'n, the House of Prayer, 

The Throne of covenant-grace ? 
Why start ? O how unlike that shrine 
Thou raised' st to the King benign ! 

And where thy people, King ! 

The chosen of the Lord, 
Numbers beyond all numbering, 

As promised in the Word ? 
Where are they ? let the wild winds bear 
The summons ! echo answers, where ? 

Restless thine eye, for nought, 

Far as its glance may range, 
Responds to memory's by-gone thought, 

All subjected to change ! 
Here is the Land — but where the Throne ? 
Pled, with the form that sat thereon ! 



The glory of the hour, 

Onee circling round thy brow, 

Temple and nation, pomp and power 
And name — where are they now ? 

Gone, bubble-like when winds arise — 

All vanity of vanities ! 

And thou, who art thou, King ? 

What ! is this frame of bones, 
That stands, a mean and ghastly thing, 

Pushing aside these stones, 
Disrobed and bare, with glassy eye, 
Staring, as fixed on vacancy, 

A shade in blaze of day, 

Xo crown to grace thy head, 

Thy robes, the cleaving of the clay, 
The red earth of thy bed — 

Is this great Solomon ? thou he ? 

Alas ! how vain is vanity ! 

Yet tho' all earth be gone, 

Not all of being here — 
Temple and city, people, throne, 

Again shall reappear, 
When David's Son and David's Lord 
Shall reisfn in warrant of his word. 


Go, lay thee in thy Tomb, 

Low in thy mother-ground ! 
Time hastes ; full soon relief shall come 

At the last Trumpet-sound, 
When all the sons of God shall see 
That Land, where nought is vanity ! 



O fearful words, that will not let him hide 
His guilty head within the Tomb's deep shade, 

That bears aloft the tokens of his pride 
And his foul acts — a royal renegade ! 

Vainly he shrouds behind Oblivion's wing, 

While points the tongue of scorn : This, this the ungodly 
King ! 

Time wings his flight, and centuries sweep on, 

Yet will not rob him of his heritage ; 
While kingdoms bloom and fade beneath the sun, 

Fame holds to view this wonder of his age ; 
Strange, that so long the harvest-time should be, 
So brief the sowing-time of infamy ! 
g 2 


Man seeks to hide his fellow's shame, when death 
Hath laid his hand on the defenceless clay, 

Bids the Earth cover up past deeds from breath 
Of evil tongues, let slander as they may ; 

Hake not his acts from out Time's sweeping stream, 

Hake them not up — 'tis an ungrateful theme ! 

Vain words of man's deceit — there is a book 
In which e'en here all human acts are weighed, 

The mirror of God's mind, wherein who look 

May mark in rays of truth such acts pourtrayed — 

And He, who is, and was, and e'er hath been, 

Hath sealed his will : the soul shall bear its sin ! 

For all things were for Him, and in Him framed ; 

Man in his earthly seat of kingly sway, 
And all the tribes around by man once named, 

Bound to perform his will, his word obey — 
Good works attend the good, but deeds of ill, 
In blood unwashed, must bear their sentence still. 

Thus God in characters of brass hath graven 
The deeds of Ahaz with immortal fame, 

And bade each wind that sweeps the vault of heav'n 
Waft far and wide to countless tribes his name — 

This is that King ! see, mark each horrid thing 

He joyed to work — this is that wicked King ! 


Each deed of ill, his gods, his lusts, his pride, 

Each Moloch-sacrifice 'mid blood and fire, 
His scorn of holy signs, the grace defied, 

Augmented sin augmenting more God's ire, 
Stamped in deep shame upon the sacred page — 
This is that King ! resounds from age to age ! 

The shifting generations of mankind 

Mark, as they fill their term of being here, 
This name, with deepest infamy combined ; 

E'en children lisp the words, and shrink for fear — 
And still the story is for ever new, 
This is that King ! and thus his treasons grew ! 

While from the Tomb of thirty centuries 
Stands out to view the record of this King, 

A beacon-light, as generations rise, 

To warn what woes from disobedience spring, 

O God ! grant me to shun the seeds of crime, 

Since such the gathering of the Harvest -Time ! 




Thou would'st and would'st not — from thy birth 

The sport of passion still, 
The jarring elements of earth, 

Conflictings of the will. 

Thou would' st full fearless tread the wave, 

At summons of thy Lord ; 
But when the winds began to rave, 

Thou would' st not trust His word. 

Thou would' st within His bonds be bound, 

And follow at His side ; 
But, when the scorners gathered round, 

Would' st not — and Him denied. 


Thou would' st go with Him to the death ; 

But, when the hour drew nigh, 
Thy vaunted offer proved a breath, 

Thou would' st not with Him die. 

Thou would* st thy Master's cause proclaim 

E'en in imperial Rome ; 
But when there scowled the cross' shame, 

Thou would' st not meet thy doom.* 

Yet grace had power — by faith he stood ; 

This storm of wills at length 
Was hushed, as one baptized in blood, 

Strong in his Master's strength. 

Now would he meet the cross, and lie 

As on a soft-strewn bed, 
Unworthy like his Lord to die, 

Transfix' d with downward head. 

Thus, with the Saviour's might imbued, 

He hath the victory won, 
What once he would not, now he would — 

Not mine, but Thine be done ! 

* In allusion to the legend, Domine, quo vadii 




Max loves possession, heaps his selfish store 
With hoards of glittering lucre, gold on gold ; 

Kestless for gain, thirsts ever more and more, 
Xor stays his soul with riches manifold ; 

So deep the evil works, since first the thought 

And lust of gain in our first parents wrought. 

His own ! what magic in the words ! how sweet 
The sound to Judas, as the bag he bare ! 

This lured to follow Christ w T ith willing feet, 

And share the toil that he the gain might share ; 

He thought not ill the prompt supplies to stay, 

But moved as one o'erladen with thick clay. 

He heard his Master claim his source above, 

He heard his teaching, saw his deeds of might — 

Each day he marked the glory, grace, and love, 
That cast around Him majesty of light — 

Yet not the less he kept his sordid way, 

Yet not the less determined to betrav ! 


He sold his Master, and he plucked the gains, 

And cheered his soul, nor deemed his hopes belied — 

Another moment, blood the pavement stains ; 
He falls to earth, a wretched suicide ! 

He had his doom, for he had wrought his will, 

He that is sordid shall be sordid still ! * 

He sought his own — shall he then evermore, 

Mocked of his hope, his treason's spoils not have? 

The gold he sought is gone, his well -filled store 
Is- drained to buy a field, the alien's grave — 

He sought his own — his own then let him win, 

In righteous retribution for his sin ! 

Down-driven to the realms of woe and pain, 
E'en there he finds a treasure and a home : 

There was his own ! the place with all its gain 
Was his — none grudge to share his doom. 

See him accurs'd amid the accursed race, 

Preeminent installed in pride of place : 

Preeminently cursed, who dared to sell 

His Saviour for a vain and worthless bribe — 

Hark, hear ye not resound the laugh of hell, 
The loud, long mockery, the jeer and gibe ! 

The very demons hoot him in their rage, 

Who took such pains to win such heritage ! 

* Rev. xxii. 11. 
G 5 


Give him the meed he claims — 'tis now his own ! 

Mammon, the god he served, the place hath given ; 
Well hath he earned the wage, who planned alone 

For thirty pieces sell the Lord of heav'n ! 
Who could have thought, if not the crime we see, 
Love of possession work such treachery ! 

Reader, mark then the Motto on his Tomb ! 

Gone to his own place, Done to doubt his right ; 
He sought a guerdon, and the guerdon's come, 

Told out to him in dread abodes of night. 
Ah ! little deemed he, as the gold they tell, 
'Twas this he bought his own, a place in hell ! 

So hath the Lord a place prepared for His, 

Blood-bought, all 'Hummed with celestial light, 

The rich inheritance of immortal bliss, 

Far from the dread abodes of death and night. 

Lord! may I spurn the Tempter's proffered wage, 

And win from Thee Thy glorious heritage ! 




Loved of Him whose love is life, 

With Him joined when here a stranger, 
Near Him 'mid a world's rude strife, 
- By Him kept in hours of danger — 
What shall bound his hopes of gain, 
Favored o'er the sons of men ! 

Thus he deemed, when stirred within 
High-flown thoughts of bold ambition, 

When the fumes of inbred sin 

Blurr'd the light of waking vision — 

c Grant me, Lord, a king's command, 

Seated at Thine own right hand ! ' 

But when school' d beneath the cross, 

He beheld his Lord expiring, 
All his gain he counted dross, 

Crucified each fond desiring : 
How should earth engross his eye, 
With his dying Master by ! 


What the world to him who stood, 
Viewing pangs that knew no measure ? 

Where Christ drained His cup of blood, 
Shall he drain the cup of pleasure ? 

Bid the hands his brows adorn, 

That had wreathed the crown of thorn ? 

No ! to His loved side he clung, 
Gladly shared each hour of sorrow ; 

On His lips of wisdom hung, 

Sought each heav'nly grace to borrow ; 

Fixed his hopes on higher bliss 

Than this vain world's guileful kiss. 

What shall then the Lord bestow 

When He reigns with hand of power ? 

What, but crown a life of woe 
In His cause, with lordly dower ! 

Lo ! He gives a place of rest 

In the cold earth's hollow breast ! 

Shall then Love no higher meed 
To a life of service render ? 

Grudge not ! since no thought or deed 
Shines but in His glory's splendour ; 

Shall the servant spurn the bed 

Where his Master laid his head ? 


Blest, who, dying in His death, 

Calmly in the Saviour slumber, 
Waiting till the Spirit's breath 

Rouse them, numbers without number, 
And the waken' d eye, restored, 
In rapt vision views its Lord. 

Till the Trump shall sound to rise, 

Rests with Him the wearied spirit, 
In the groves of Paradise, 

Purchase of the Saviour's merit, 
Free to share in realms above 
All the sunshine of His love. 

Blest disciple ! rest in peace I 

Nought from thy loved Lord can sever : 

He hath sealed a full release ; 

Sin and woe can tempt thee never, 

Lo ! an universe of bliss 

Waits each chosen child of His ! 




How mocks the eye yon sordid soul 
That binds its gaze to earth, 

Tho' myriad worlds above it roll 
To attest its heav'nly birth ! 

O how should man so dead remain, 

Counting the dross of earth his gain ! 

His feeble glance is met by rays, 
Whose burning sevenfold force 

Wakes up and lights the searching gaze, 
And draws it to its source, 

And gives a view of things revealed, 

And gives a thought of things concealed. 

Yet what Thy works without Thy word P 
Thy power without Thy grace ? 

How should these worlds a pledge afford 
Thou hast for me a place ? 

The halls are broad and wide — yet what 

If He declare, c I know you not ! ' 


But living Faith claims as its own 

A world all worlds beyond, 
The blazing glory of His Throne, 

AY ho sealed with us a bond — 
If but the love of Jesus reign, 
To live is Christ, to die is gain ! 

To die is gain ! then down repose 

Our w T eary limbs and breast, 
As turns the pilgrim, at day's close, 

To his soft couch of rest ; 
No sorrow, sighing, toil or pain, 
Hunger or thirst — and this is gain ! 

And more, borne on the viewless wind, 

The spirit soars away, 
Leaves these dull regions far behind, 

And springs to meet the Day, 
And sees the Lamb for sinners slain— 
Vision of bliss ! and this is gain ! 

Beam on the eye fair Zion's towers, 

The distant, longed-for home, 
There shall the soul with all its powers 

Exult, no more to roam ; 
The full inheritance obtain 
Of heav'nly joy — and this is gain ! 


Who then their heav'n above shall find, 
When called away from earth ? 

The sons of God, with Christ's cross signed, 
Raised to a second birth — 

Let Christ, in all his members reign, 

Breathe the new life, then death is gain ! 

In hope to ascend Thy holy hill, 

We lift our gaze above, 
Our meat and drink to do His will, 

Whose very Name is Love ; 
Calm waiting till the shadows fly — 
If Christ to live, 'tis gain to die ! 



Come, shew me where the Saviour lay, 
I have an offering there to pay, 
Where shines the Resurrection-ray. 

Strange gifts are mine, the fruits of sin, 
Defiled and stained without, within, 
Yet with this load I venture in. 


I pled with Him, while yet his eye 
Was swollen with his Day's agony — 
I dared not ask the reason why. 

He heard me sinful and defiled, 
Looked on me as his wayward child, 
Looked with his eye of love — and smiled ! 

The mountain- agonies he bare 

Could not o'erwhelm his ear for prayer — 

He bade me lay my burden there. 

Then shew me where the Saviour lay, 
I would be lightened, while 'tis day, 
Then, glad, I'll speed me on my way. 

'Tis here — the heavenly spot how sweet ! 
Here lay His head, His hands, His feet ; 
What rays of glory herein meet ! 

Is this the grave ? It cannot be ! 
Dark ever seemed the grave to me, 
Door to a dread uncertainty. 

Is this the grave ? 'Tis as a bed, 
With freshest flowers garlanded, 
A pillow for the weary head ! 


Yet, 'tis the grave — it could not keep 
The Saviour in its chambers deep : 
He slept — and I with Him shall sleep. 

For how could earth contain her King, 
When He, who reft the tyrant's sting, 
Eose on his Eesurrection-wing ! 

Dark tho' the gloomy mansion be 
Eeft of its sting and victory, 
'Tis now a resting-place for me ! 

Self, and its gilded robe of pride, 
All that would fain my heart divide, 
I cast, where lay the Crucified. 

Eage, hate, lust, unbelief, and care, 
Stumblings and backwardness in prayer, 
I cast, a hellish burden, there. 

Whate'er of thought, or deed, or word, 
Hath wrought against my loving Lord, 
I cast, condemned and abhorred. 

Now I arise — my burden gone, 

Eeft of the plumes in which I shone — 

Content, rags cover me alone. 


And yet I hear a whisper say, 

1 Come not thus to the light of Day, 

Cast those habiliments away.' 

And must I naked stand, that all 
May mark how low a seraph's fall? 
Thy will be done — I heed thy call. 

Now am I nought — nor sin have I, 
The Saviour deigned for sin to die — 
Nor works, the wealth of heaven to buy. 

Deal with me, worthless, as Thou wilt, 
For me Thy blood, Thy blood was spilt ; 
Give me Thy robe, take Thou my guilt ; 

Then deck me with an angel's wings, 
While my freed spirit upward springs, 
And glory to the Saviour sings ! 


Who counts upon the morrow ? 

The sun hath shed this day 
Upon our world of sorrow 

His last, his parting ray — 
Night now its pall is throwing 

O'er nature's obsequies. 
Xo sign to man bestowing, 

The morn shall ever rise. 

What if, while frail man slumbering 

Renews his wasted powers, 
And Time, with ceaseless numbering, 

Brings on the laggard hours. 
"When warns the clock, morn's breaking, 

\- runs the hand its way, 
Man find, from deep sleep waking, 

Xo sun to bring the dav - 


How would one mighty terror 

The human heart pervade, 
Marking, beyond all error, 

The day speed on in shade ! 
When now, all hope resigning, 

The awful truth comes home, 
The sun hath lost its shining, 

The end, the end is come ! 

-The sun may rise to-morrow, 
Tho' all around be gloom, 

And this vain world of sorrow 
Its burning rays relume — 

And day and night succeeding 
Time yet his course may run, 

And hour its horn* forth leading- 
Usher the rising sun ; 

But who of mortals living 

May boast his eye shall see 
The day its lustre giving, 

As the night's shadows flee ? 
What if, ere the sun's splendour 

Bedecks the hills with light, 
Thy God should bid thee render 

Thv soul this waning night ! 


Then count not on the morrow ! 

The present moment take 
Be it of joy or sorrow — 

"VYake, to its value wake ! 
To men of every nation 

The hasting minutes say : 
Repent, and seek salvation, 

While it is called To-day ! 



O Day, whose record in my soul, 

Graven as with an iron pen, 
Stands out to view, as Time's sure scroll 
Brings it again ! 

The sun may shine, and the young year 

Betoken brighter days to come ; 
This casts a shadow on a bier, 

And a lone tomb. 

One day I roamed by Avon's tide 

And mused with one I called my own ; 
The next, I drew the veil aside, 

The bird was flown 


'Twere long to tell of hope's bright flown- 

Nipt in the bud as by a spell — 
Of the rude shock, woe's lingering hours, 
'Twere lono* to tell ! 

Enough to know, tho' brief his span, 

Sudden the call, and sharp the strife, 
Thro' all his term of days there ran 
The hidden life. 

Tho' none was near, and stealthy Death 

All lonely found him in the night ; 
Girt in the righteousness of faith, 

He fought the right. 

Each eve he laid him down to rest 

A stranger in an hostile land, 
With Faith's bright shield upon his breast, 
And sword in hand. 

Thus, when the appointed hour drew near, 

He heard unmoved the Trumpet blow, 
Sprung to his feet, and knew no fear, 
But met his foe. 


For He was nigh in that lone hour, 

To shield his child from the grim King ; 
Death saw, and owned his broken power, 
Reft of his sting. 

A triumph that still chamber saw, 
Ere yet the spirit left the clay ; 
Grace rose o'er terrors of the law ; 

Death vanquished lay. 

Tis meet to mourn the young in bloom 

Eapt by some secret power from sight — 
To ponder records of the tomb, 

By the moon s light. 

Tho' where the dead in Christ have died, 

Living as who in Christ were born, 
Assured they're gathered to His side, 

Why should we mourn ? 

Then let night's summons bid me forth, 

She shall my servant be to aid 
The musing thought, where all of worth 
Seems lowly laid. 


Not on the tomb I seek thy name, 

Toward Heav'n's blue vault I raise mine eye; 
Earth may awhile thine ashes claim, 
Thy soul's on high ! 

Why seek the living 'mong the dead ? 

'Tis but the dust that slumbers here — 
The life is with the spirit fled 

To some bright sphere. 

Let Death his triumphs vaunt in night, 

Spread his cold couch for them that He — 
The soul, that wings its heavenward flight, 
Can never die. 

He passed away — no more earth's snares, 

Or wearing woes ; his work was done — 
Called from his stewardship of cares, 
Ere well begun. 

Live then as children of the Day ! 

Bear on your front the Saviour's sign ; 
Like clust'ring stars i' the milky way, 
Your path shall shine. 


The star-light course, Lord, may I trace 

Of those to whom Thy grace is given — 
Then may Thy glory reign o'er grace 
In joys of heav'n ! 

H 2 


Hence, day-dreams of an earlier age, 
While yet the world was young, 

And fancy o'er life's future page 
Her gilded glories flung ! 

Vision on vision hovered past ; 

Filled was the youthful eye — 
Each scene yet brighter than the last > 

More glorious yet the sky. 

Who could not paint a Paradise, 

If self the pencil hold, 
Where the mind's hidden region lies, 

Rich wrought in hues of gold ! 


HOPE. 149 

But as, when dreams upon the bed 
Have flown with night away, 

The morning* calls poor man to tread 
The homely tracks of day, 

So back from fancied scenes of bliss, 

From visionary life, 
The mind must seek its happiness 

Mid plodding tasks and strife. 

Why grieve because so soon they past, 
These visions of the mind ? 

How should a dream of fancy last, 
Since kind bes;etteth kind ? 

What tho' all joys of every sense, 
In the full bloom of health, 

Pictured the bliss such joys dispense, 
Mid scenes of boundless wealth, 

Tho' all that fancy framed were given 

To crown such Paradise, 
It lacked a charm without which Heav'n 

Were but a Heav'n of lies. 

150 HOPE. 

Its walks might range thro' fragrant bowers. 

By forms of beauty trod, 
With cloudless skies and breathing flowers ; 

One thing it lacked — it's God ! 

What joy without the source of joy ? 

What light where beams no sun ? 
How sure must mortal pleasures cloy, 

Tho' time for ever run ! 

All were in vain — however bright, 

Or broad the visions' scope, 
The word, in characters of light, 

Shines forth — no God, no hope ! 

Xot till the soul its frenzied dream 
And selfish thought foregoes, 

Content to sit beside the stream, 

Where Life's Tree branching grows — 

Not till in night it cease to grope, 
But drinks the fount of day, 

Beams forth thy brightness, Star of Hope, 
And lio-hts the narrow wav ! 

HOPE. 15) 

This points to scenes with glory rife, 

Immeasurably blest, 
One bounding tide of joyous life, 

Fulness of heav'n and rest. 

Hence, visionary dreams, begone ! 

Mere meteors of the night ! 
The Star of hope, where beams the Sun, 

Shines forth, and all is Light ! 


There's a world without hope in the regions below, 
Where souls that are lost find no balm for their woe ; 
Tho' varied and fierce be the pangs that they bear, 
'Tis the thought of for ever bows down with despair. 

From the pains of the damn'd, from the rule of hell's king, 
No herald of joy hope of succour may bring ; 
Xo gleamings of grace ever brighten the skies, 
For the fire never sinks, and the worm never dies. 

'Tis the harvest of wrath o'er a harvest of sin, 
And the torments to be are as they that have been, 
But the sense of eternity deepens the gloom, 
Xo respite to torment, no end to their doom. 


blest is the state of this earth, where the smile 
Of a God of rich love may each sorrow beguile ; 
Where o'er days yet to come a bright faith sheds its light, 
And Hope gilds the prospect, tho' dark be the night ! 

In the cloudiest heav'n shoots a beam from afar, 
And the sun as he sets wakes the bright evening star, 
Mid the din of the battle hope's whisperings run, 
For the warrior shall rest when the victory is won. 

The husbandman watches the lengthening shade 
And thinks of his home nestled soft in the glade — 
Fresh strength nerves the pilgrim as 'fore him he spies 
Zion's temple and towers gleaming bright in the skies. 

Hope quickens the steps of the father to prove 
The joy of embrace where he centres his love ; 
And e'en the poor captive, from the bars of his cell, 
Seeks a glimpse of blue sky, and hopes all will be well. 

And they that look out on the stormy deep, 
When the waves are loosed from their charmed sleep, 
Watch and long for the morning, while hope, in each gleam 
Counts the troubles of night but a feverish dream. 
h 5 


Tis a world full of hope ! far or near, high or low, 
Tho' sin has o'ermantlecl earth's glories with woe, 
On the land, on the ocean, in freedom and thrall, 
With the air that we breathe there is hope for us all. 

Yet what is the hope that this world may afford I 

'Tis a world without hope, speaks the voice of the Lord ! 

It's hope is no hope ; like a bubble, tho' fair, 

Blown about with each wind, and then melting in air. 

For let a man deem that the future shall be 

The end of his pains, from all trouble set free, 

If the base of his hope be his own selfish love, 

'Twill fail when most needed, all worthless 'twill prove. 

Hope builds upon Faith, and Faith builds on the Word, 
In the promises rests, and the strength they afford ; 
But a hope, that springs up in the soil of the mind, 
Begotten in wishes, is sown to the wind. 

A hope without God may strew flowers on the path, 
But they wither and die in the blast of his wrath, 
And many a dream, gay and glittering like gold, 
Ends in death, the eve waking in sorrows untold. 


But a hope that is based on the covenant made 
With Him who the storm of God's anger hath laid, 
In ages to come shall in glory abide, 
When blown to the winds are all workings of pride. 

Not the hope of a world without hope be my stay, 
But a hope that is sure, that will never betray. 
That is based on His work, and inscribed with His Name, 
That shall stand in His Dav, and not cover with shame ! 



A day of storm ! Say, what the winds that sweep 

Their course of devastation round our coasts, 

What, but forerunners of the Lord of Hosts, 

Sent on their wings to work His counsels deep ! 

Forth from the presence at His word they leap, 

Speed on their mission over vale and lea, 

To spend their fury on the distant sea — 

There are who watch their wasteful course, and weep ! 

If such the heralds of thy coming, Lord ! 

The angry tempest on its darkening wings, 

The lurid gleamings of the Cherub's sword, 

That shut up Eden with all pleasant things, 

And drove Man forth, obedient to Thy word — 

What shall Thv coming be, Thou King of kings ! 


AND IF I PERISH, I PERISH. Esth. iv. 16*. 

1 The King is on his Throne, 

The Sceptre in his hand, 
A. hundred realms subjection own 

And bow at his command — 
I would prefer my prayer, 

I have an urgent suit, 
But who his searching eye may dare, 

Till beckoned to his foot ? 

1 The day is hastening on, 

And stem is the decree, 
And vengeance soon her robe shall don 

Of deepest treachery — 
The crafty Agagite 

Before the Presence stood — 
TVoes me ! how can I bear the sight, 

My nation in their blood ! 


' He knows not of my race — 

How will his anger move ! 
For thirty clays no act of grace 

Assures me of his love, 
"lis death uncalled to go, 

Yet must I venture nigh ; 
Nought else can stay my nation's woe- 

And if I die, I die.' 

Thus spake the Jewish Queen — 

Time would not brook delay : 
In the full view of perils seen, 

She would her call obey. 
He lent a gracious ear, 

Stretched forth the golden wand. 
She touched ; away all doubt and fear- 

Their lives are in her hand. 

The King is on his Throne, 

The Sceptre in his hand — 
vYorlds upon worlds subjection own, 

And bow at his command. 
I have a suit to make, 

How shall I venture nigh ? 
My soul's salvation is at stake, 

And if I die, I die ! 



The law would bid me hence. 

In full light of the Sun ; 
I may not trust to penitence, 

And merit I have none. 
Tho' of a worthless race, 

I yet must venture nigh ; 
I'll touch the sceptre of His grace, 

And if I die, I die ! 

. Lo ! from His Throne above, 
He bids me to his foot — ■ 
The golden sceptre of his love 
I touch, and urge my suit. 
1 My soul I fain would save, 
E'en tho' my life I lose, 
No more 'neath Satan's rule I slave, 
The better part I choose. 

' Blood hath for blood been shed, 

I have a Friend in Thee, 
Thou conquered' st death to raise the dead, 

Grant me true liberty. 
Salvation, Lord, I seek, 

Let me not seek in vain : 
Hast Thou not said, the meek, the meek 

With Thee shall ever reign ? ' 


He lends a gracious ear, 

He seats me by his side, 
He soothes each anxious doubt and fear, 

He tells me, He hath died ! 
The King is on his Throne — 

The Sceptre in his hand — 
Henceforth no other lords I own, 

Nor will, but His command ! 


Here it is good for us to be, 
High on the Mount of God ! 

To see His unveiled Majesty 
In His supreme abode ! 

The fogs of earth spread far beneath, 
But Tabor's brow is clear ; 

The mists of doubt and dews of death 
May never venture near. 

Not as on Sinai, round whose base 
The sons of Abraham crowd, 

More favored now, fall'n Adam's race 
May pass within the cloud. 


Put off thy shoes, 'tis holy ground. 

Here shine the angelic seven, 
The saints our fellows, and around 

The atmosphere of Heav'n. 

Lord, let us here rejoicing raise 
Tents for Thy saints and Thee, 

Here where Thou art, the Fount of praise, 
lis good for us to be. 

Thus, fond, to hallowed spots we cling, 
And would, 'twere always day, 

Live here for ever with our King, 
Not knowing what we say. 

For never yet since Adam fell 

Should earth an Eden be, 
AT here saints of God might ever dwell 

From sin and sorrow free. 

Had here the Master pitched his tent, 
And Tabor made his throne, 

How had his arm the Dragon rem ': 
How blood-redeemed his own ? 


No, grief and suffering here were His, 

He might no respite know, 
While Peter dreamed of earthly bliss, 

He mused his coming woe. 

Of this they spake, while all around 

The excelling glory shone, 
For this awoke the heav'nly sound : 

1 Hear my beloved Son ! ' 

Then not on earth would we remain, 

No, not on Tabor's breast — 
Not here we seek the Saviour's reign, 

Not here our place of rest. 

Lo, there where burns the Eternal Three. 

Whom seraphim adore, 
There it were good for us to be, 

And dwell for evermore ! 


Holy Light, the eldest-born, 
First of new-created things, 
Thou, on this world's natal morn, 
Scatter'dst brightness from thy wings. 

Xow the eye roams far and near ; 
For when all was swathed in night, 
Thou the Living voice did' st hear, 
' "Be there Light,' and there was Light ! 

Since then, ever on the wing- 
To obey the Eternal King, 
With each morn, when past the night 
Sneaks the Word, and there is light. 

LIGHT. 165 

Not alone in blaze of day 
Dost thou still thy Lord obey — 
Various do thy glories stream, 
Great the debtors to thy beam ! 

Now the moon with vision pale 
Mildly silvering hill and dale — 
Now a star with twinkling eye — 
Xow a meteor shooting by — 

Now a sudden lightning glance, 
Pointed as a warrior's lance — 
Now the bowels of the earth 
Wake its gems to give thee birth. 

But thy chiefest glory lies 

In the higher mysteries, 

When to fall'n man's blinded sight, 

Thou wert sent, and all was light. 

In the bush, a kindled flame, 
Miracle without a name — 
As a fire-cloud sent to bless, 
Guiding thro' the wilderness. 

166 LIGHT. 

By thy Hash the awe -struck crowd 
At the base of Sinai bowed, 
Read their covenant-Lord's command 
On the tablets of His hand. 

Oft again a gleam on high, 
Blazed upon the prophet's eye, 
Burned within, a fount of fire, 
Waked the soul to wake her lyre. 

Messengers of God, there came 
Lightning flash and eye of flame ; 
Yet it shone with glance of wrath 
Low'ring darkly on their path. 

But when up the Day-spring rose 
Milder radiance beamed above, 
Sealed of Terror's reign the close, 
Waved the o-olden wand of love. 

Shepherds, as they watched by night, 
Saw the cherub's flaming car — 
Eastern Magi hailed the light, 
Beaming bright in Bethlehem's star. 

LIGHT. 167 

Hail, thou Holy Light of light ! 
By whose will alone there shine 
Sun by day, and moon by night 
Five-flash, star, and meteor-sign ; 

Howsoe'er thy glories gleam, 
Day arise and shadows flee, 
Wake me from my nature's dream, 
Grive me sight, and I shall see ! 


Forth comes the hour — who bade the moon on high 
In cloudless splendour scale the nightly sky ? 
Who named her seasons, filled her orb with light, 
And bade her rule, the empress of the night ? 
Thou, blessed Lord ! the Moon thy creature shines — 
Thou gav'st to man the sun and moon for signs ! 

Yet gav'st Thou not the Moon the light's full stream, 

But bade it shine, a sun without its beam, 

Whose partial splendours touch the mountain's brow, 

While deeper shadows hide the vale below, 

Wake up the wand'rer's eye, yet each sense steep 

In doubtful mazes, as a dreamer's sleep. 

Why thus afford the dark its sun, yet pour 
Such scanty radiance on night's silent hour ? 

THE MOON. 169 

Pale and one-sided, snatches we may mark 
Of silvery brightness, the dark doubly dark : 
Small power her dubious glimmer claims o'er night, 
Xot as the sun, that flings abroad its light. 

Thou ! from whose full Fount ail glories shine, 
The Day is Thine, the Night is also Thine ! 
Thy wisdom as Thy mercy without end, 
Tor ever faithful, sons of men attend. 
All things in Thee begin and in Thee close, 
The day for work, the night for soft repose. 
If then Thou giv'st to man the night for sleep, 
Thou bid'st him rest, his eyes in slumber steep, 
That every wearied nerve may gather might, 
To meet the cares and claims of opening light. 
The moon her seasons, sun his setting knows, 
And man too owns night's shadows for repose. 
He knows the night's for slumber. Mark, how still 
The sleeping town outstretched beneath the hill ! 
The river glides along its murmuring course, 
Winding at will, unchecked by human force. 
The loom is hushed, the plough its post regains, 
The cattle, loosed, repose upon the plains. 
E'en man's proud mind, oft tossed in restless haste, 
Delights in dreams to run itself to waste, 


170 THE MOOX. 

Leaving to guard, beside his bolts and bars, 

The uncertain moon, and the bright twinkling stars. 

What boots it then, the lamp at all should shine, 
And Light and Dark at night their strength combine ? 
Let each its province keep, the day and night, 
Since sleep the darkness, work demands the light. 
Yet lest some wand'rer on the earth's cold breast, 
In very restlessness intent on rest, 
Should lack the needful guidance, and be lost, 
God hangs a Lamp with silver light embossed ; 
Some light to guide the pilgrim on his way, 
And only some, lest, tempting him to stray, 
Tain man shoidd turn the darkness into dav ! 


sing to the Lord, His glory proclaim, 

In the beauty of holiness worship His name ; 

Eor a sound o'er the nations is echo'd abroad, 

'Tis a sound of salvation, — the voice of the Lord ! 

In its glory and strength on the blast it is borne, 
The mountains and hills from their roots are uptorn — 
The cedars of Leban bow down from their height, 
And deserts of Kedar acknowledge its might. 

Wind and storm bear o'er ocean the sounds on their wing, 
And billowy waves frame a Throne for their King — 
He sits on the flood, where the dark waters rise, 
His pavilion around, with thick clouds of the skies. 

T 2 



Ah ! well may the earth list His coming with dread, 
Who hath spurn' d his dominion to herd with the dead ! 
'Tis meet that the sound should pierce home like a sword ! 
'Tis meet that she quake at the Voice of the Lord ! 

Yet, joy to the Earth ! for the Voice speaks of peace, 
A home for the outcast, for the captive release — 
The wild tumult is hush'd, winds and waters convey 
Glad news to the nations, the Dawn of the Day ! 

The Voice of the Lord hath gone forth in its might, 
And the glance of His eye hath turn'd darkness to light ! 
Ice-barriers of Ocean, that gird in the North, 
Break in sunder, as speeds the word : Let them go forth ! 

What moves like a spell the dense masses of Ind, 
As the trees of the forest are moved with the wind ? 
From the steps of their demon-shrines, erst so ador'd, 
Come sounds of salvation — the voice of the Lord ! 

What boots it that China hath strengthened her coasts, 
And barred out the nations, and gather' d her hosts ? 
The Voice of the Lord burst its way from the sea, 
And wide fling the portals — her millions are free ! 


The isles of the South hear the voice o'er the deep, 
As the shock of an earthquake it wakes them from sleep — 
They hear of a Saviour, they bow 'fore His Throne, 
And grind into powder their idols of stone. 

The red man hath heard in the far distant West, 
And his foot in its restlessness here finds a rest, 
While mountain and river re-echo the sound, 
Thro' the range of the land to its farthermost bound. 

All hail to the Victor who rides on His way, 

In meekness and majesty urging His sway ! 

Speed His weapons of love, speed the power of His sword, 

Till all nations exult in The Voice of the Lord ! 



Free is the Pasture's range, 

From every danger free, 
Nor force, nor hate, nor chance, nor change 

Control my liberty — 
For there, where'er I go, 

My Shepherd- King is near ; 
He shields my head from every foe, 

My heart from every fear. 

Free is the Pasture's range ! 

On every side I roam : 
Here nought I see or hear is strange — 

I feel myself at home. 


Say not, the bounds are scant, 

Here all I need is found — 
His will ensures my every want, 

His will can know no bound. 

The wolf seeks to devour, 

The lion prowls for prey, 
They have no power where Christ hath power, 

Whose will shuts up their way. 
The flock of Jesus feeds 

Within the fold secure, 
Let them but follow where He leads, 

And scorn each worldly lure. 

I lay me down to sleep 

The living stream beside, 
I know no ill the Shepherd's sheep, 

Nor terror may betide — 
I wake, and find no harm, 

For He hath waked for me — 
By night, He guards me with His arm, 

By day, His form I see. 

My daily task I ply, 

And in and out I go, 
Wearied or tried I find Him nigh ; 

His will is all I know — 


Such is the Christian's lot, 

Tho' in an evil age ; 
He claims, with choicest blessings fraught. 

A goodly heritage. 

It boundless thus and free 

The pasture in its range, 
For men to scoff at liberty, 

And hug their bonds, how strange ! 
Is strife so full of joy? 

The plague of heart so blest r 
Will peace all happiness destroy ? 

Can tumults rock to rest ? 

AY hat mean the sons of men 

That to the sands they cling ? 
AAliat is the desert but a den 

Of every hateful thing p 
Let them but hither come, 

All men of every race, 
A boundless pasture still has room, 

And boundless is the £race ! 


Who eateth me shall live ! strange word 

For human ear unmeet ! 
How spread his body on the board ? 

How give his flesh to eat ? 

Thus speaks the tongue of faithless man. 

Fruit of a carnal thought, 
Not knowing, life and spirit ran 

Thro* all the Saviour taught. 

For nothing less the soul can stay — 

Cain's fruits rejected lie — 
What else should nerve us for the way ? 

We must have flesh, or die ! 
i .5 

178 the lord's supper. 

Whatever on the board is spread 
Must live, and then be slain, 

Or still upon the guilty head 
Sins unrepealed remain. 

Lamb of the Paschal sacrifice ! 

For man what hope of life, 
Unless thou openest Paradise 

Beneath the avenging knife ? 

And when the heav'nly food is spread 
Shall man forbid to taste ? 

The flesh left mould' ring with the dead, 
The blood flow off to waste ? 

Shall bread be there, and yet, tho' free, 

The hungry not partake, 
Wine, and th' athirst yet thirsty be, 

Nor drink for Jesu's sake ? 

No ! if the victim were not slain, 
How should I venture nigh ? 

And if I feed not, all is vain — 
I faint, I fail, I die ! 



The gate of Heav'n ! Hark ! hear ye not the sound 

Of Hallelujahs borne the breeze along, 

The crowded harmonies of sacred song, 

Forth issuing, strength derived from things around, 

Living or dead, in one charmed union bound ! 

Its myriad pipes the organ wakes, and flings 

Abroad its multitudinous tones and wings 

Its way thro' columned aisle and nave, the ground 

Instinct with music, while aloft the hymn 

Bursts thro' the roof, as claiming to be free, 

And calls the winds to bear it to the Throne, 

To mingle with the voice of Cherubim — 

For what the theme ? Redemption's mystery ! 

And who awakes the voice ? Thou, Lord, alone ! 


Would you view the glorious face 
Of the God of truth and grace ? 
Look around, whate'er you see 
Marks the present Deity. 

When the eye of morn appeal's, 
Undimm'd by his thousand years, 
In the radiance of that light, 
You behold his image bright. 

Mountains mark his faithfulness, 
Streams the fulness of his grace, 
Ocean-depths his paths display, 
Moon and stars his boundless sway. 


Fire and storm, and fruitful shower, 
Lordly tree and golden flower, 
Hill and dale by rainbow spann'd, 
Are the tokens of his hand. 

Song of bird, and sounding string, 
Hymn the praises of our King, 
Music, spurning Satan's chains, 
Echoes the seraphic strains. 

Hail Thou, altogether fair, 
What of thine with Thee compare ! 
Grant us sight, that we may see 
Nothing in thv works but Thee. 



Lo ! mark yon mournful train, 
Dragging a noiseless chain, 

As up the steep they wind their toilsome way- 
Wrapped in the robes of woe, 
They bow their faces low, 

Nor heed the din around of busy day. 

A form, with years down- bent, 

Hath climbed the steep ascent, 
One moment halts at the half-opened door — 

No gleams of rising day 

O'er those wan features play, 
But fearful darkness, low 5 ring evermore. 

canova's tomb. 183 

He starts — but rigid Fate 

Claims his reluctant mate, 
And bids him welcome to his couch of rest — 

He shrouds his bending head, 

Descends with timid tread, 
Sinks from the gaze in that deep vault's dark breast. 

"With firm and stately pace 

Manhood pursues his race, 
Rests his fierce eye on the insatiate tomb — 

His brawny arm sustains 

The partner of his pains, 
And up they wend by a remorseless doom. 

Ambition lurks within, 

And many a seed of sin 
Lures them to ringer fondly as they go — 

But a like secret spell 

Kings their departing knell, 
And drives them onward to the realms below. 

The infant loiters still, 

His little eye to fill 
With the gay colours of a laughing world — 

Shall he his toys forego, 

To wend this way of woe, 
While pleasure gilds his eye, her flag unfurled ! 

184 caxova's tomb. 

A tender, clinging root, 

He will not raise his foot, 
To climb the first steps of this dolorous way — 

But stands, and looks awhile, 

With a bewitching smile, 
And begs of death one moment more to stay. 

But Death assumes his stand, 
And waves his ruthless wand, 

Youth, manhood, age, the same sad darksome path- 
Hard as the flinty steel, 
Deaf to each fond appeal, 

The King of terrors frowns with eye of wrath. 

Then mingle with yon train, 
Nor deem the summons vain, 

While millions thus their measured moments span- 
Go ! onward with them tread 
The city of the dead ! 

There's room for thee ! and 'tis the lot of man ! 

I go — for well I wot, 

It is, it is my lot, 
A child of sin and sorrow from the birth — 

In vain the flesh may shrink, 

I mark the grave's dread brink ; 
Death waves his banner o'er all sons of earth. 

can ova's tomb. 185 

Yet, as my step draws near, 

Past is all sense of fear, 
I note the way — 1 mark the opening door — 

Dark tho' the chamber be, 

Within, by faith, I see 
A glimpse of glory gleaming evermore. 

For what the door to me 

Since Christ hath set us free ? 
From the soul's state its colours take their rise — 

'Tis now the seal of Fate, 

'Tis now of hell the gate, 
'Tis now the door of hope to joys of Paradise. 

My Saviour and my God, 

The darksome way hath trod, 
And lit his lamp of endless glory there — 

On it I fix mine eye, 

Nor heed the dangers nigh, 
Nor shrink the sad inheritance to share. 

I would not shroud my head, 

Nor falter in my tread, 
Nor loiter yet to bid the world farewell, 

From past and present woe 

To future bliss I go, 
No mortal's mind may grasp, or seraph's tongue may tell. 



What tho' the way be dark, 

Nor voice of rising lark 

Cheer the long windings of Death's lonesome vale- 
Soon shall an angel's lay 
Usher the blaze of Day, 

Nor cares, nor gushing tears again prevail. 

Thus, leaning on His arm, 

Faith weaves a secret charm, 
That stills each boding fear, and lulls to rest — 

I see his banners wave 

High o'er the spell-bound grave, 
And know the souls he loves for ever blest I 

The towers of Salem rise 

Tore my enraptured eyes — 
Swift pass the shades like a distempered dream- 

I gain the blissful shore, 

TVhere sin and woe no more 
Cloud the rich radiance of the Eternal Beam ! 



[ Hast thou no sword or spear ? ' 
I hear the wand'rer say, 

* No time to arm, haste drove me here, 

And haste brooks no delay. 
I must be up and gone, 

I have a work to do, 
Leave me not then, I pray, alone, 

All weaponless to go.' 

' I can no help afford/ 
Ahimelech replies, 

* Save that, here wrapped, Goliath's sword 

Behind the ephod lies. 
It is a sword of name, 

Unwieldy tho' it be, 
Thou hast to it a rightful claim ' — 

' None like it, give it me ! 


' What tho' a sword of weight, 

And clogged with gems of pride, 
Might ill beseem a wand'rer's state, 

I gird it to my side. 
I know, by proof, its worth, 

A keenly tempered blade, 
When, fall'n prostrate on the earth, 

I smote the giant's head. 

1 A blaze of glory gleams, 

As forth the blade I draw, 
Flash on the eye the past's fond dreams, 

That Elah's valley saw. 
It owns no meaner nse 

Since it set Israel free, 
'Twill guard him whom the Lord doth choose — 
None like it, give it me ! ' 


I too a weapon need, 

For many are my foes, 
Within, without, by word, by deed, 

Sworn ever to oppose. 
Give me the undying Word, 

The pledge of victory, 
The strength of God, the Spirit's sword, 

Xone like it, give it me ! 


Many its deeds of might, 

It never wrought in vain, 
Full many has it chased in flight, 

Full many has it slain. 
Tho' weak the arm, if Faith 

Come with the promised aid, 
We conquest gain in life or death — 

There's victory on the blade. 

Yet tho' a sword of name, 

Its temper's edge tho' keen, 
Tho' many are its deeds of fame, 

Tho' glorious is its sheen, 
Vain all to guard from harm, 

The victory to gain, 
Unless Thou nerve the feeble arm — - 

All strength without Thee vain ! 

I grasp of Faith the shield, 

Helmed with immortal youth, 
The Spirit's sword I boldly wield, 

And gird myself with Truth — 
Thus panopled in mail, 

With Christ my Captain nigh, 
I gather vigour, tho' I fail, 

x\nd conquer, tho' I die ! 


Thou God of Truth, give me to see 
Things as they are, not seem, 

To count each lie a vanity. 
Each thing of earth a dream. 

What tho' amid a world we move 

Where all we meet deceives, 
Where joys but glittering baubles prove, 

The show of fruit, but leaves. 

Truth hath come down the world to bless, 
Erst bound in Satan's chains, 

With victory crowned, and righteousness 
The girdle of his reins. 

TRUTH. 191 

Christ is the Truth ; when forth He shines 

Night's shadows flee away : 
Things stand to view, the deepest mines 

Are brightened into day. 

In vain the world to darkness flies, 

To shield her from his view, 
He scatters far her mist of lies — 

He maketh all things new. 

If at a mortal's frown aghast, 

Gehazi's soul bowed low, 
From forth his master's presence past, 

A leper white as snow ; 

If the lost two, who dared deceit, 

Rung out their day's last knell, 
And, struck to earth, at Peter's feet, 

Their lifeless bodies fell, 

How should I meet his gaze, from youth 

Immersed in lies and strife, 
Did not the glorious light of Truth 

Unfold the Light of life ! 

192 TRUTH. 

Shine forth, Thou Sun of Righteousness ! 

The truth of God reveal ; 
Shed out the goodness of Thy grace, 

The darkened eye unseal. 

Thus in Thy Light shall I see light, 

And, as I upward gaze, 
Lose all the gloom of nature's night 

In splendour of Thy rays ! 

TRUTH versus PEACE. 


There is a small and feeble race 

The sons of men among, 
Stamp' d with indelible disgrace, 

And harnessed with wrong, 
Yet never swerving from their place, 

In very weakness strong. 

They seem the Ishmael of mankind, 

Roaming the desert-sand, 
Heed not the laws their fellows bind, 

Raise against all their hand — 
Nor home nor dwelling-place they find, 

Still strangers in the land. 


They will not court the worldling's smile, 

His scoff they do not heed, 
Shrink, lest his pleasures them beguile, 

Kefuse on husks to feed — 
Oft may you see them weep the while, 

As if their heart did bleed. 

Deep -sprung, conflicting thoughts arise, 
And o'er then features range — 

Now smiles, now tears, now songs, now sighs, 
Note them in constant change — 

As tho' of contrarieties 

Made up, and minglings strange. 

They harm not, yet they will not bend 

To be as others are; 
Now seem a foe, and now a friend, 

They care not, yet they care — 
Let truth demand, no power can rend, 

Let love, they glad forbear. 

Who are these ? "What this wayward race ? 

These troublers of the earth ? 
Who dash all joys with bitterness, 

Hold wealth as nothing worth ? 
Who curse full oft where others bless, 

Blight pleasure from its birth ? 



They boast to serve the Prince of peace, 

Then what have they with strife ? 
Claim they from earthly ties release ? 

Shall brother, husband, wife, 
Disown all bonds, and bid surcease 

The charities of life ? 

Thus reasons rash a world that knows 

No God but its own will, 
Veers round with every wind that blows, 

Intent on pleasure still, 
Cares not to risk eternal woes, 

So joys its canvass fill. 

-The sons of pride glide down life's stream, 

A smooth, unbroken course, 
Years passing as a wildering dream, 

With pleasure for its source ; 
They will not heed yon distant gleam 

That marks the torrent's force. 

Let sons of Truth call from the shore, 

To check their headlong way, 
Warn them to list the torrent's roar, 

Tell them then* hopes betray, 
Dashed down the steep, for evermore 

To rolling floods a prey — 
K 2 


They deem them seers of evil fame. 

Eeject with one accord ; 
They hate the truth, its sons they blame, 

They prove the Saviour's word : 
' Think not/ he said, ' for peace I came, 

I came to bring the sword ! ' 

Thus ever, while thro' earth they roam — 
This small and pilgrim flock — 

They fight the world, the world o'ercome, 
Nor heed the earthquake's shock, 

Their eyes above, for Heav'n their Home, 
Their feet upon the Rock. 

They can nought else ! * { I am the Way/ 

The meek Redeemer cried : 
Resist the foe, lest he betray, 

And tell him, he hath lied ! 
Truth must the deep foundation lay, 

If ever Peace abide ! 

For Truth He faced the ungodly throng — 
For Truth his flock He sought — 

For Truth endured the world's proud wrong — 
For Truth the fight He fought— 

For Truth upon the Cross He hung — 
And thus His Peace He wrought. 

* ' 3cf) &an nirfjt an&rrs ! Luther, at the Diet of Worms. 



Then, Christian, take the armour given, 

The Spirit's sword and shield : 
Of all the blest, none but have striven 

On a well foughten field — 
If ever thou would'st hope for heav'n, 

Firm fight, and never yield ! 


The less I have of earthly joy 
The more of Heav'n be mine — 

Why should the loss my thoughts employ, 
Or tempt me to repine ? 

What if the child, in tender years, 

Be subjected to rule ; 
What if his cheek be moist with tears, 

While disciplined at school ; 

The more he mourns his present lot, 
When far his fancies roam, 

The more he longs, all pains forgot, 
To sain Iris wished-for home. 


He knows a father loved is there, 

And brothers many a one, 
He knows he shall the welcome share, 

When once his work is done. 

Tho' for a season called to meet 

The chastenings of the rod, 
Tho' trouble claims no present sweet, 

He knows 'tis for his good. 

Patience must bear the needful toil, 

Self-knowledge he must gain, 
To fit him for a world's turmoil, 

The sorrows that remain. 

Yet ever, with each rising sun, 
Homeward his wishes flow — 

He counts the moments as they run — 
Tis time for him to go. 

He thinks him of his mother's kiss, 
His father's beaming smile, 

x\nd thoughts of treasured happiness 
All carking cares beguile. 


And shall I mourn while tutored here, 

If, 'neath a wintry sky, 
My leafless boughs be dry and sear, 

^ly choicest fruits all die ? 

I too can claim a Father's love, 
Tho' distant far I come — 

And cheer the moments, as I rove, 
With breathings after Home. 


Sweet flower ! that makest thy downy bed 

Where ruins of past glory lie, 
With eye so bright and upturned head 

To catch a glimpse of the blue sky, 
Why. in thy loneliness, abide 
The cold and shadowy arch beside ? 

Eude walls and riven arches round, 

Like strength firm struggling with decay, 

By time's deep pencil-tints embrowmed, 
Tell tales of ages passed away — 

Yet w T hat the wTecks of ages gone 

To thee, thou frail ephemeron ? 


What is this rugged nurse of thine, 
But mad ambition's proudest throne, 

Of human skill the bold design 
To write Eternity in stone ! 

And thou so lowly — why abide 

In this huge monument of pride ? 

Here terror bowed the suppliant knee, 
And self put on her robes of gold, 

While, like a billowy inland sea, 

The boisterous waves of passion rolled — 

And thou so calm — thy tender form 

Why rest mid elements of storm ? 

Here murder spread its ghastly board, 
And clamour choked the panic-scream, 

While wrought its work the biting sword, 
Till the gorg'd earth refused the stream— 

And thou so mild — why shun'st thou not, 

Where rests the foul, the crimson spot ? 

But, rising o'er a deeper stain, 
Yet louder thrills the cry of blood, 

Whose guilt their glory, here were slain 
The myriad martyred sons of God — 

And thou so pure — with heav'nward brow, 

In such a place why tamest thou ? 


Yet as I see thee smiling stand, 

The offspring of this crimson flood, 
I mark the movements of God's hand, 

From evil still educing good — 
On ruins of man's pride He rears 
A sign of love to soothe our fears. 

There yet is mercy — tho' the guilt 

Lie deep as scarlet, still the same — 
There yet is mercy — blood hath spilt 

Tor blood, and shame transfers our shame ; 
Since this cursed ground yields one so calm, 
There is in Gilead still a balm ! 


'Twas Spring, but soon the Summer's sun 
Earth's blooming cheek embrown' d, 

And Autumn, ere her course was run, 
Soft shed her leaves around. 

And now stern Winter pours his tears, 
"While snow-storms crown his head ; 

Earth bends beneath the weight of years, 
And communes with the dead. 

The seasons change, — but Thou, great King ! 

Sitt'st on Thy awful throne ; 
No years o'er Thee their shadows fling, 

To Thee all times are one. 


Thou seest our varied seasons pass, 

Like clouds beneath Thy feet, 
And while time mows us down as grass, 

He dares not front Thy seat. 

Thou giv'st the elements their charge, 

And bind'st them to obey, 
Whether they rove abroad at large, 

Or falter in their way. 

Yet while time lays his ruthless hand, 

And bows these feeble forms, 
Flings wide the sunbeams o'er the land, 

Or swathes himself in storms, 

Thou seal'st to Thine, from changes free, 

Joys which all joys transcend, 
A life of immortality, 

A heav'n that knows no end. 

may my life be hid with thine, 

Thou God of changeless truth ! 
Then, as the years of time decline, 

Be mine, immortal youth ! 


Sure 'tis the grief of griefs, awhile to catch 
A passing glimpse of glory so divine — 
When in mid heav'n flames forth the Birthday-sign, 
To greet the shepherds on their lonely watch, 

While songs of joy ascend, 
And waft the sonl to glories without end — 

Sure 'tis the grief of griefs, that the dull clay 
So worms the soul within, and clouds the eye, 
That but a gleam of splendours passing by 
Comes o'er the sense, a mingling night and day, 

While harps of angels ring, 
Thro' heav'n' s wide concave, praise to the Incarnate King ! 


Vainly the eye casts deep its search to scan — 
Vainly the ear drinks in the heav'nly strain — 
Vainly the foot to flee from earth would fain — 
Vainly the mind dares grasp the wond'rous plan — 

What boots it but to shew, 
The more we know, we nothing truly know. 

The harp of flaming seraphim resounds ! 
Hark to the song that heralds in the birth : 
( Glory to Him enthroned above, on earth 
Peace, and good-will to man abounds ! ' 

The soul would fain 
Cast off its load of dust, and the full glory gain, 

But dust of earth still cleaves, and worse, 
The soul still cleaves to dust, and still the clay 
All effort mocks to win the opening day, 
Curbing it, as a rider curbs his horse ; 

Thus the fond soul 
Panting exhausted sinks long ere it reach the goal, 

What needs it then to catch a distant gleam 
Of the bright splendours of this glorious eve, 
When deepest draughts of happiness but leave 
The soul unsated, mocked as in a dream ! 

Were it not better, say, 
Like the dead world around to sleep the night away ? 


O think it not — dull as the soul may be, 
Steeped tho' in earthiness each sluggish sense, 
Ah better far to see some gleamings, whence 
The glory comes, and mourn our apathy ! 

To hail the rising star 
Tho' faint and dim, than sleep, ah better far ! 

Yea ! better far our feeble strength to strain, 
Tho' all unequal to the flight, to long 
And stretch the wing, in very weakness strong, 
And gathering strength, all struggle seeming vain- 
Faint signs of dawning light 
Ah better far than slumbering thro' the night ! 

Tho' dull the shepherds' ear, and dim their gaze, 
As the rich vision broke upon their view, 
Flashing its rays, so glorious and so new, 
On minds still wildering in night's shadowy maze. 

It served, at break of day, 
To point the manger where the Infant lay. 

For what the vision, what the harping strains, 
That broke the stillness of the listening night, 
And sang the victory ere was fought the fight, 
While Hallelujahs rang thro' Bethlehem's plains — 

"What but the echoes dim 
Of cherub-hosts and helmed Seraphim ! 


Thus tho' all darkly thro' a veil the star 
Beam forth its splendour, and the seraph-song 
Sound faint, as its far cadences prolong, 
They come, the heralds of the Advent-car — 

How dim soe'er the sight, 
His the resounding Praise, and His the Fount of Light ! 


How strange this earth ! a wand' ring steed 

That owns no rider, a wild gleaming light, 

That flits its flickering path along some mead 

To cheat the foot of wayfarer by night, 

A star of evil eye that speeds its course from gloom 

To gloom, till, plunging in the depths, it meet its doom. 

Go where you will, on every hand uprear 

The hundred heads of lawless anarchy — 

Go where you will, no signs of Him appear, 

Who earthward came to bid the oppressed go free — 

Still groans the whole creation, still the burdened sigh 

Of the imprisoned church ascends above the sky ! 


When will the King return ? Shall man for aye 

Reject his Maker, and this wild earth make 

The sport of his rude will, and cast away 

All thoughts of Him who suffered for his sake ? 

Shall yet for evermore the fires of passion burn 

A fierce and quenchless flame ? When will the King return ? 

He comes not — shrouded darkly from our view, 

He back withdraws the splendours of his Throne ; 

Man will not seek a bliss he never knew, 

Nor, where he spurns all rule, a sceptre own — 

How should a King return, whose subjects will not bow, 

Where proud rebellion stalks abroad with brazen brow ? 

Little she deemed, when on this hallowed morn 

An infant in the lowly manger lay, 

That He had come, who, tho' the lowly born, 

Bore in his hand a rule of sovereign sway, 

Power to slip within her jaws his curb, and still 

Break down her stubborn pride, and bend her to his will. 

Little she deemed, so humble was his lot, 

But not the less enshrined his mighty power ; 

Tho' the whole world against his sceptre wrought, 

Let but time faithful count the destined hour, 

A little stone, tho* mean to view, of wond'rous birth, 

A mighty Mount hath grown to fill the bounds of earth. 


Once hath He come — a little while He staid, 

Then passed away, and now we look and long, 

When fulness of his Spirit's power displayed, 

He comes in glory, with salvation strong — 

We watch, and wait, and weep, and still the longings burn, 

And still the cry resounds : when will the King return ! 

It cannot be that ever thus thy earth 

At mercy of thine hated foe should He, 

It cannot be that this thy mortal birth 

Should not ensure man's immortality — 

O child of Bethlehem ; let not all be vain, 

Take to Thyself Thy power, and come and reign ! 


Gen. iv. 1. 

what a gleam of rapturous hope 

Lit up the desert-wild, 
When Eve, the mother of mankind, 

Beheld her first-born child ! 

' I have the man, the promised man, 

The Saviour of His race, 
Flesh of our flesh, born to retrieve 

His parent's deep disgrace. 

Soon shall the Paradise we lost 

Again her gates unbar, 
The flaming cherub sheathe his sword, 

And cease with worms to war.' 


Ah ! vainly did the woman dream ; 

Long years had yet to roll, 
Ere came to earth the promised seed, '' 

The Saviour of the soul. 

First-born of many brethren He : 

Since all of Adam's race, 
Who win the crown of endless life, 

Thro' Him attain the grace. 

The first-born shed his brother's blood ; 

But Christ, the chief of men, 
To free his brethren from their doom, 

Upon the cross was slain. 

This is the man, the promised man, 
Clothed in His garb of woe ; 

blest, who Him as Saviour own, 
And His salvation know ! 


Hail to the expanded bow, 

Of covenant-love the sign ! 
Glorious its triple colours glow, 

Lit by a Hand Divine ; 
It stands, a seal of blessings given, 
A bridge betwixt the Earth and Heav'n. 

When from the skies above 

The rushing deluge fell. 
In vain thro' the vexed air it strove 

Its tale of love to tell; 
Nought met the eye, but the dense gloom. 
The boiling deep and raging foam. 

But when the angry wave 

Back shrunk its bounds within, 

Too late a wretched world to save, 
Drown' d 'neath its weight of sin, 


It gilded bright fallen nature's tears. 
Love's emblem to dispel our fears. 

Fast falls the gentle rain, 

And brighter glows the span, — 

How should such trophy shine in vain, 
Fraught with such good to man ! 

He writes His mind on clouds above, 

And wreathes His justice with His love. 

I mark — the sign I own; 

He will our sin forgive : 
He binds His rain -bow round the Throne. 

And bids the sinner live : 
His eve rests on it, and His grace 
He treasures for our sinful race.* 

He spans the earth with light ; 

"When showers pour down from heav'n, 
They greet the sun's broad rays, and bright 

Eeflect the glory given ; 
The clouds are gilded by the ray. 
Fit emblem of salvation's way ! 

* Gen. ix. 16. 

THE RAINBOW. *2 1 7 

Not when the azure sky 

Beams with one blaze abroad, 
And lights a gay and laughing eye, 

Shines forth the love of God, 
But when the dropping rain descends, 
His bow of covenant-grace He bends. 

Jehovah never smiled 

On sin's unhumbled power ; 
When sorrow bows her sinful child, 

He gilds the falling shower ; 
Let tears of penitence but flow, 
Faith sees on high the Covenant-bow. 

Then at His footstool bend ; 

The pledge He gives is thine — 
If from thy heart the shower descend, 

He'll plant His mercy's sign, 
Full peace and pardon freely given, 
A golden pathway to yon Heav'n ! 


How strange is heav'nly love ! 

I never saw His face, 
I never trod His courts above, 

I have but known His grace, 
Yet my affections cling 

To His beloved side — 
I feel He is my God, my King, 

And I His ransomed Bride. 

How strong is heav'nly love ! 

Stronger than aught below ; 
Tho' wide and wild my passions rove, 

I will not let Him go ! 
What though I see Him not, 

I feel the ardour burn ; 
He hath for me the victory wrought, 

I love Him in return. 


How sweet is heav'nly love ! 

'Tis all in all to me : 
I muse on Him in field or grove, 

Or wancrring by the sea : 
I walk with Jesus here, 

Not lonely, though alone, 
Till in his mansions I appear, 

And know as I am known. 

L 2 


Who soothed the man of woe 

Here, in this vale below, 
Ready his wants with open hand to meet ? 

Who trained his infant years ? 

Who bathed his feet with tears, 
Sitting, a willing listener, at his feet ? 

Who cheerful spread the board, 

With earth's oblations stored, 
Gave food to Him who gives to all their food ? 

Nor left Him in the hour, 

The sport of Satan's power, 
But poured their tears where He poured forth His blood ? 


Who sat the Cross beneath, 

In the grim hour of death, 
And watched each writhing pang with tearful eye, 

Nor deemed themselves forlorn, 

Tho' subjected to scorn, 
While at the Cross's foot — their dying Master by ? 

"Who woke with earliest day, 

And seized the morning ray, 
The first to sound the resurrection-hymn, 

Hasting with speed of fire 

To mingle with the choir, 
Foreguard of heaven, the burning seraphim ? 

Woman ! the first in sin, 

The first the crown to win, 
Thou faithful wert thy Master's path to tend — 

While man, with terror shook, 

His captive Lord forsook, 
Thou sealed' st thy friendship to the sinner's Friend. 

Sure, 'tis an angel's dower, 

Girt with Almighty power, 
To wait on Him on whom all beings wait — 

Whether they stretch their wing 

To serve the Eternal King, 
Or 'fore His presence stand in royal state. 


List what thy Lord declare? ! 

They of His realm are heirs 
To whom while here this high behest is given — 

When from the earth set free, 

They shall as angels be, 
Join the glad ranks of mmist'ring hosts of Heav n. 

Then blest yonr lot who vie 

With seraph- guards on high, 
Tho' scant the excelling strength, and eagle wing — 

Content, while stationed here, 

In lowliness and fear, 
Yonr tribute-offerings to your Lord to bring. 

Go, seek Him in his poor, 
Serve Him from door to door, 

He owns your labours, faint howe'er and dim — 
Let but the spell of love 
Each hallowed action move — 

What can they more, the swift-winged cherubim ? 

He notes the willing mind, 
With active work combined ; 

Their names in His Life's Book writes ever down : 
Who sit His cross beside 
Shall, as his ransomed bride, 

Sit on His throne, and wear His kingly crown. 


Fired by the Saviour's love, 

Your source of strength above, 
Sisters of mercy, on your mission speed ! 

The fainting spirit cheer, 

Hush every faithless fear, 
Search out the straying sheep and to the pastures lead. 

Till shadows flee away, 

And breaks the Advent-day, 
Haste to the hills of myrrh, your tributes bring ; 

Soon shall your work be done, 

The rain be past and gone, 
And storms of winter yield to an eternal spring. 



1 Ho ! you, who now the mountain-summit near, 
Long travelling upward, measuring steps with time, 
While far below, as late set out, I climb, 
How shews the prospect ? is it bright and clear ? ' 
I turned — it was a youthful pilgrim's cheer, 
AVho braved with upturned face the mist and storm, 
Which now enwrapt, and now revealed her form, 
While still she toiled, as one who knew no fear ! 
It was a young one's thought, that the bright sun 
Would shine all brighter ere his race be run, 
While all below the tempest wrought its way ; 
Ah me ! she little dreamed the storms how fierce 
That rack the summit, gloom, no eye can pierce — 
Yet darkest horn of night brings in the dawning day ! 


What pains our heav'nly Father takes 

To link us with the world above ! 
His Son He spared not for our sakes, 
For He is Love ! 

He will not lose a child of His, 

Howe'er the world defy His arm, 
But now by rod, and now by kiss, 

Secures from harm. 

A mother sought her babes to lave 
In the still waters of this bay — 
There came a message, and the wave 
Took them away. 
l 5 


Yain all a mother's heart could dare 

In baffled wrestling with the main — 
The tear, the struggle, and the prayer, 
"Were all in vain. 

Who could have thought such ruin lay, 

Beneath so bright and calm a sea ? 
Who could have charged such glorious bay 
With treachery ? 

How could it so its trust bely — 

And, 'mid a bright morn's balmy breath, 
These little wand'rers sporting nigh 
Allure to death ! 

Blame not the sea ! not by its wiles 

They died, or snares of sprites of ill, 
Or fiend's fell grasp, or syren's smiles 
That woo to kill. 

They were a treasure bought by blood, 
Eeserved for Him who set us free — 
Waves had their mission, fraught with good- 
Blame not the sea ! 


Tho' bright the scene around them gleamed, 

The glory of a summer-day — 
Death came like slumber ; and they dreamed 
Their life away. 

Alike to Him who rules on high, 

What messenger he sends to save, 
A fiery chariot from the sky, 

Or the still wave. 

All are his servants, far and wide, 
By land or sea, by day or night. 
They speed, where'er His saints abide 
On wings of light. 

Fire, flood, the pestilence, the sword. 

The beast's sharp pang, the fever's breath, 
Angels of mercy, at His word 

Summon to death. 

What knew these children of the power 

Of Adam's sin o'er Adam's race ? 
A few fresh tears, an April shower, 
O'er a bright face ! 


Flowers, fruits, and fairy scenes of bliss, 

The gentle work, and pleasant play, 
A father's care, a mother's kiss, 

All the long day. 

And as they early felt the rise 

Of evil thoughts that wildly rave, 
So early trained His name to prize 
Who died to save. 

Then grieve not o'er the souls you loved, 

Nor hang your garlands on their hearse, 
These little girls so soon removed, 

And their fond nurse. 

Faith sees them clad in living light, 
The groves of Paradise among — 
In glory of the heav'nly sight 

"Wake the glad song ! 


Rom. vii. 24. 

Saviour, soothe a troubled breast, 

Hush the tempest to a calm ! 
Restless, Thou alone art rest, 

Wounded, Thine the only balm — 
Bind the heart, the mind, the will ; 
Speak, the rudest storm is still ! 

wretched man ! where'er I go, 
I bear about this galling chain, 

Fretting a frame of sin and woe, 

While fiercest struggles all are vain- — 

Life bound to death ! ill matched pair ! 

How shall T rise above despair ! 


A heaving gulf of fierce desires — 
A tiger, prowling for its prey — 

A crater, smouldering in its fires — 
A bursting torrent on its way — 

A thunder cloud, where lightnings dart 

Athwart the gloom — such is man's heart ! 

And worse than gulf of fiery heat, 
Or tempests howling in their rage, 

Thunder or flame or arrowy sleet, 
Or tiger rushing from its cage — 

These may be shunned by timely flight. 

And waste in ah' their useless might — 

But who shall 'scape the war within? 

Go where he may, he drags Iris chain ; 
The floods of woe, the gulf of sin, 

The fires of passion still remain — 
Or far or near, by night or day,. 
The plague is there — go where he may ! 

Who then shall save me from this death ? 

Who loose the victim from his foe r 
Thou, who gav'st the Spirit's breath. 

And seal'st a full release from woe, 
Thou wilt complete thy work divine, 
And snap the chain — All praise be Thine ! 


On Omar's mosque the sun's rays gleam 
And tip each minaret with gold, 

While marble courts the ascending beam 
Elash back in colours manifold ; 

What richer radiance could he fling, 

When rose the shrine of the Great King ? 

sun ! face of Jehovah's throne ! 

The image of His glorious name, 
Owning no fount but Him alone, 

How can'st thou bear this sight of shame, 
Nor cast a dark and angry glare, 
To see that thing of hate stand there ? 


There rose the Temple in its pride, 

In massive strength on basements deep, 

While ranged the courts on every side, 
Circling with gold Moriah's steep, 

Bock-rooted firm by royal hands, 

Upreared, the glory of all lands. 

How would' st thou love to pour thy rays, 
Since here thy King had found a home, 

Light with insufferable blaze 
The glory of the golden dome ! 

'Twould seem thy second self was there, 

A beacon to the House of Prayer. 

Hast thou no consciousness, as wheels 
Thy burning axle thro' the sky, 

While e'en the meanest reptile feels 

Joy of thy warmth, when thou art by ? 

Art thou, thus blazing on thy throne, 

All dull and lifeless as a stone ? 

Did'st thou not once on Gibeon stand, 
While Aijalon the moon delayed, 

Check in mid course time's onward hand, 
In Joshua's voice thy God obeyed, 

Reining thy fire-coursers on their way, 

To give man scope — a two-fold day ? 


Did' st thou not pale thy face, and weep 

Blood-tears, and clothe thy yellow hair 
With sackcloth, in amazement deep, 

To see the Son of God hang there ? 
O sight of horror ! thou did'st bow, 
And quench in shame thy burning brow ! 

Thus conscious, can'st thou look so calm, 

And fling the splendours from thy face, 
And load the air with fragrant balm, 

This thing of jealousy to grace, 
As 'twere some sister -temple stored 
With gifts in honour of thy Lord ? 

Conscious or not, thou dost His will 

Who framed thy lamp, whose will is power — 

If He endure this image still, 

'Tis thine to burn till strikes the hour. 

His eye, who fills the worlds with light, 

In calm displeasure marks this sight. 

Why thus ? let Salem tell the cause ! 

She scorned her tribute-gifts to bring, 
His mercy spurned, trod down his laws, 

Hung on the cross her Saviour-King, 
Then cursed herself, in maddest mood : 
' On us and on our babes His blood ! ' 


Thus works the curse her bones within, 
The choice was her's, and her's the doom- 

Her sons wide scattered taste the sin, 
A scorn and hissing, as they roam — 

Their Saviour from the land they cast, 

The land hath hurled them on the waste. 

Blame not the sun ! his mission's given, 
With whom his Master bears to bear ; 

His duty registered in Heav'n, 

To light a smile, or gild despair — 

Shine then, until thy race be run, 

And o'er thv ruin wakes the Eternal Sun ! 



O Zion ! lift thine head ! 

Thy gates wide open fling ! 
He comes to raise thee from the dead — 

Thy Saviour and thy King. 

Go forth, with branching palm, 
Go forth, with offerings meet ; 

Engaddi's spice and Gilead's balm 
Lay at thy monarch's feet. 

Tho' here no crown of gold, 

No royal banners wave, 
He comes, whom ancient seers foretold, 

He comes, the lost to save. 


On moves the festive train, 
The city-gates they near : 

Shall Zion still in sloth remain ? 
She wakes, she starts for fear ! 

A murmur like the sea 

Runs thro' the gathering throng : 
' Who thus receives the bended knee ? 

Who thus awakes the song ? ' 

Within the shrine He stands — 
More glorious in that hour, 

Than when, the glory of all lands, 
It rose in pomp and power. 

Hark ! 'tis the voice of praise ! 

Her sons his triumph sing, 
And children's voices love to raise 

Hosannas to their King. 

Let us too join the song, 
Hosannas to His name ! 

If mute, amid th' applauding throng, 
The stones would tell our shame. 


Gen. xxii. 14. 

What staid the heart of Abraham, as he sped 

On to the Mount with Isaac at his side, 
While throngs of stunning thoughts his soul bested ? 

His strength of faith : The Lord will yet provide ! 

What way he knew not — morn and noon and eve 
For three long days, his weary path he trod ; 

Who shall the future's tangled web unweave, 
The mystic dealings of a covenant-God ? 

Short communings had he with his loved son, 
When now afar Moriah's mount they spied, 

Tho' faint the hope as time's sands onward run, 
Still faith prevailed : The Lord will yet provide ! 


( Father/ the youth exclaimed, as up the ascent 

They climbed, and marked the brow before them rise, 

1 Fire-flame and wood denote the service meant, 
But where the lamb for the burnt sacrifice ? ' 

What could the father, mid the strife of thought, 
But rest on Him, in whom his hopes confide ? 

Faith steeled his soul, howe'er with trouble fraught, 
And thus he spake : ' The Lord, He will provide ! ' 

Bound on the wood which he himself had brought, 
Bound on the altar which himself had reared, 

The victim lay — was this the lamb he sought ? 

How should he shed the blood so much endeared ! 

Yet to the last his faith full brightly shone, 

He knew Jehovah's promises abide — 
The blood might flow from off the reeking stone 

He, who coidd raise the dead, would yet provide ! 

Jehovah-Jireh ! Hear, Earth, and ye, 

O Heav'ns, thro' all your bounds the tidings fly ! 

He sets the one son of his servant free, 

And o-ave His own one Son the death to die. 


O boundless love ! Man with a feeble voice 

Cried for his son — love shrank from what faith dared — 

The heavenly Father bade fall'n man rejoice, 
The God of Isaac slain, and Isaac spared ! 

Go, aged man, back to thy pilgrim-home, 

Thou deem'st thine Isaac's life a cheap-bought gain — 
A ram caught in a thicket meets the doom — 

Know in that ram thy Lord Himself is slain ! 

A father's heart must rend, a son must die — 
Thou pray'st a substitute, 'tis given to prayer ; 

Yet blood must pom* thy sin-stained soul to buy, 
The heart of God must rend — His Son lies there ! 

Fulness of joy ! who spared not His own Son, 
Will meet all wants whatever else betide — 

Here mark a pledge of covenant-love, begun 

And closed in blood — The Loud will yet provide ! 


What soothes amid the gloom of night, 
When not a star in heav'n appears, 
And not a straggling moon-beam cheers, 

Or meteor flashing far its light ? 

In the rapt soul from realms above, 

There shines a gleam of sovereign power, 
Tho' all around in darkness lower, 

A sign — that God is Love ! 

'Tis this that calms the troubled soul, 
When rushes down the gathered storm, 
And rudely o'er man's trembling form 

The waves of tribulation roll — 

Then 'mid the tempest soars the dove, 
Bearing the olive branch of peace, 
Bidding the angry tumult cease, 

To note — that God is Love ! 

GOD IS LOVE. 24 i 

How could I bear to view the sun, 

And feel myself a child of man, 

And number out my little span, 
While life's streams thro' their channels run — 
How chain the thoughts that wildly rove, 

And heave and agitate the breast, 

Were not on ail things here imprest 
Heav'n's seal — that God is Love ! 

Bright tho' around the fair blue sky, 

And many a gay and spicy flower, 

And many a gem of lordly power, 
And many a zephyr floating by, 
And many a glorious forest-grove, 

And many a sweet and thrilling strain — 

To soothe the troubled soul all vain, 
If not — that God is Love ! 

Yet not the sun, or sky, or sea, 

Arrayed in beauty and in grace, 

With the full sense each charm to trace, 
Could seal this blessed truth to me — 
The light must beam from heav'n above, 

A light from Him, whose smiles impart 

Love, life, and glory to my heart, 
A light — that God is Love ! 


Judges vin. 4. 

Lord, and will it never be, 
While in this vale of tears, 

That offerings such as mine be free 
From weakness, doubts and fears ? 

Thou claim'st, and hast a right to claim, 
Full strength of deed and will, 

A perfect work — yet, to my shame, 
All is imperfect still. 

1 love as if I loved Thee not — 
I serve, but ah ! how vain ! 

The noblest act, the purest thought, 
Sin tinges with its stain. 


What checks Thy grace ? what bars Thy right ? 

Shall man control Thine hand ? 
Is not Thy Spirit infinite ? 

Shall not Thy promise stand ? 

Cannot the ocean of Thy love 

My heart's desires pervade ? 
Cannot the sun-light from above 

Control the darkest shade ? 

Lord ! mine the fault — in all I fail, 

Nor watch, nor strive, nor pray : 
More grace I need — let grace prevail, 

And rule with sovereign sway. 

But if, while yet I sojourn here, 

My service thus must be, 
Give me to pour contrition's tear, 

In deep humility. 

Content in shame, but not in sloth, 

Let me my path pursue, 
Bathed in Thy blood I pledge my troth, 

If Thou Thy grace renew. 
M 2 


I cannot wash my hands, and make 

My evil nature white, 
Thy blood must cleanse, Thy robe I take, 

And clothe myself in light. 

Thus, stumbling onwards in my race, 

Ashamed of all I do, 
Give but Thy strength ; since Thine the grace, 

Be Thine the glory too ! 



Thou ! whose plastic hand first form'd the eye, 
And planted it, like beacon in its tower, 

And bade it look right out, and gave it power 
To rove 'mid worlds that thickly stud the sky, 
In the full pride of new-born liberty, — 
How hast thou guarded it with watchful care, 
By walls of bone, and eyebrow hedge of hair, 
And eyelid fringe, and fount of tears hard by ! 

1 thank thee, O my Father, that Thy love 
Open'd a window whence the mind could range, 
Secure, as crusted jewel in a mine — 

Look Thou full kindly on me from above ; 

And, as Thou clear' st the sight from all that's strange, 

Cleanse Thou mine eye of faith, and pour Thy Light Divine ! 



Hushed was the hour, when, at her Master's word, 
Israel was hid her blood-stained doors within, 
"While bread unleavened graced the Paschal-board 
With bitter herbs, and sacrifice for sin, 
When, hark ! what sounds the swelling breezes bring ? 
'Tis the fierce rush of the Destroyer's wing ! 

She lists and trembles — but the sign hath power — 
How should the Blood of Sprinkling ere be vain ! 
But woe to On and Memphis in that hour, 
When wakes a wailing for the first-born slain ! 
Who shall the oppressor from his foe release, 
"While Goshen rests in safety and in peace ? 


Angel of ruin ! girt with robes of might, 

Who spread' st thy wing o'er the first Paschal-feast ! 

Where wert thou in that calm and solemn night, 

When the last Passover claimed Christ a guest ? 

Lo ! here the twelve with their beloved Lord, 

Seest thou the blood-stained door ? Unsheath thy sword ! 

Are there no foes but those on Mizraim's plains ? 

See how the air is filled with sprites of ill ! 

What mean they that they grin and clank their chains, 

And seem 50 joyous, all to work their will ! 

Hast thou no mission to withstand the shock ? 

No word to guard from harm this little flock ? 

Lo, how they gathering throng, as sinks the day, 
With their loathed forms the upper chamber crowd, 
Watching in secret hate to win their way, 
And work their work, in hearts by sorrow bowed — 
Fear'st thou ? to cope with these hast thou no power ? 
Bring then twelve legions in this awful hour ! 

For who is He on whom their hate they wreak ? 
Thy Lord and mine ! wilt thou desert his side ? 
Leave him to fiends a prey, all worn and weak, 
Thou, who the Assyrian smotest in his pride ? 
Know'st not, a world's salvation is at stake ? 
Better to perish than thy Lord forsake ! 


See him aghast — he waits his Lord's command — 

But not for him to shield the Eternal Word : 

To save lost man demands no meaner hand 

Than His who made him, claims no meaner sword ! 

What might should aid the Almighty ? let them come ! 

The bold and bad rush sooner on their doom. 

awful fight ! we but the outskirts see — 

The God-man grovelling on the blood-stained ground ! 

His tears, his groans, his sweat, his agony. 

Eeveal but glimpses where all dark around; 

As when the rolling thunder-clouds of war 

Shroud deep the battle-field, when viewed from far. 

Let man and angel veil their heads, nor dare 
Obtrude their glances on this mystery — 
Enough for us the purchased bliss to share, 
Live in His life, and in His death to die : 
"We, thankful, hail Him rising from the Feast, 
Victim and Conqueror, Sacrifice and Priest ! 


What saw the sun on the sixth day's morn, 

When he clothed himself with light ? 
The earth lay bare as a babe new-born, 

Brought forth from its native night — 
Five days sealed the Maker the work He had made, 
Each day of the five saw some wonder displayed. 

Light shone, and the wind moved the sluggish deep 
Into waves, till they shrunk to their beds, 

And earth reared its back, as they flowed down the steep. 
And the expanse doomed the mountain heads ; 

And the herb sprung up and the branching tree, 

And the fowl was there, and the fish of the sea. 


Like a garden earth spread, and the sun all around, 

Lit up in its strength the sixth day, 
When beasts of all kinds from the teeming ground, 

Came forth 'neath the sunny ray — 
As he coped heav'n's arch the work seemed complete ; 
Earth crowded with wonders lay spread at his feet. 

'Tis the sixth day at noon, and a busy hum 

Of joyous life filled the balmy ah*, 
Now earth, erst a ruin, beneath a bright dome, 

Shone full in the sunbeam, a palace fair — 
All sprung to life at the life-giving word, 
But one thing there lacked — the eye of its lord ! 

While thus the sun stood in the zenith, he saw, 

Formed of clay by the Maker's hand, 
One who should give to the creatures their law, 

Bind the whole in a golden band ; 
And, as down he sunk to the westward, man stood 
In the bloom of his being, and God named it good. 

Leave then the first man in the pride of his power, 

The lord of this lower scene, 
Alone with his Eve in their bridal bower, 

Ere sorrow might intervene, 
And see on time's magic pinion borne, 
O'er forty centuries wakes the sixth morn. 


But 0, what a light the sun beholds ! 

In its verdure arrayed, the earth is there, 
The beasts in their pastures, the flocks in their folds, 

And the birds still claim their domain of the air: 
He sees, driven on by the fiendish, foe, 
A woe-worn man, neath his cross bending low. 

He sees him, high in the air upborne, 

That the earth and the heav'n may gaze, 
Marks him writhing in pain mid laughter and scorn, 

All scorched by the noontide blaze, 
Graced by no comeliness, gasping in death — 
Is this the first man in the pride of his breath P 

And who throng around with hearts hard as stone 

As tho 5 to a banquet of wine ? 
They are flesh of his flesh, they are bone of his bone. 

All brethren of Adam's line — 
AYho then is he thus up-hung in the air r 
The Maker of all things — thy Maker hangs there ! 

What wonder at sight like this that the sun 

Grew sick, and his splendours withdrew, 
That man sees once more, at the deed he hath done. 

Tast chaos his reign renew — 
O well may night follow hard on that day. 
The Creator that saw to his creatures a prey ! 


How strange is the tale these two sixth-days reveal, 

The moiTiing and eve of the earth ! 
The first saw creation, clay turned to the seal,* 

The second, renewing its birth — 
The one heard the Word proclaim his works good, 
The other beheld that Word vanish in blood ! 

I could weep at the thought that the sixth day's morn 

Should set in so dark a night, 
That a world new-create, which such graces adorn, 

Should sink 'neath so vile a blight, 
But a ray of hope shoots bright fore the eye, 
As I mark Life spring where all life seems to die ! 

May my life with Him on the cross be bound, 
And my death in his death shall be gain ! 

Here are depths of love which no plummet can sound, 
Here are heights which no strength can attain : 

Tho' man owns, in the first man, the sentence of death, 

In the death of the Second, he wakes to new breath. 

* Job xxxviii. 14. See Kitto's Commentarv. Pict. Bible. 


Lo ! wakes the day in storm, 

The winds are all abroad, 
They wrap in clouds the sun's bright form, 

Whose rays flash like a sword — 
Voices of Nature, all as one, 
Charge home on Man : What hast thou done ? 

Hark ! how they rave and roar, 

As loosed from realms unblest ! 
The earth, that quaked from shore to shore, 

Hath shook herself to rest, 
And leaves to roam the raging wind 
In restless search her Lord to find. 


Thou art the Man ! Air, water, land 
And fire-flame point the dart — 

Lo ! there's the blood upon his hand ! 
It drops not on his heart. 

Who coldly saw his Saviour bleed 

No roar of elements will heed ! 

He dares the Temple-courts to tread, 

With rising sun to rise — 
With soul unbowed he bows his head, 

And pays his sacrifice ! 
Hath he not seen one victim slain ? 
What means he ? shall that blood be vain ? 

Yet 'tis a high and holy Day ! 

Sealed, sanctified for rest — 
Christ's bruised and breathless form they lay, 

Within the earth's shut breast. 
Finished the work, all sealed witli blood — 
The word hath spoke it, veiiy good ! 

Softly let the Warrior sleep 

Now the bloody fight is fought ; 

While His loved disciples weep, 
He lost Eden's groves hath sought, 

Bears a soul snatched from the Tree, 

First -fruit of His victorv ! 


While He sleeps, let me awake, 
Muse awhile beside His grave, 

Oft He watched for my sake, 
Ere He died my soul to save — 

Then I'll lay me in His tomb 

Slumbering, till His glories come ! 


O sun, how slow thy wheels have run ! 
For at first blush of this morn's light, 
There broke upon the shades of night 
The glories of the greater Sun. 
And now too late thou rear'st thy head, 
And beam'st abroad thy full-orbed eye, 
For by the light thy rays supply 
Earth finds no more her mighty dead. 

'Twere meet, had'st thou been here to hail 
Thy Lord and mine, and shed the day 
Around the splendours of His way, 
While at His sight thy glories pale ; 
But as, when armed the fight to fight, 
No aid He claimed of Earth or Heav'n, 
So now, all shades of night far driven, 
He recked not of thv dawning li^ht. 


Thou gazest on an empty Tomb ; 
And now all past regrets are vain : 
Go, bid the hours attend thy train, 
And hasten on to meet thy doom ! 
For glorious as thou art, O sun, 
Thou hang'st, but as a lamp to shine, 
Lit for our use by hand Divine, 
To perish, when thy work is done. 

Yet man with open eye may gaze 
And drink the Resurrection-light, 
For faith aids fancy in her flight 
To imbibe some portion of his rays. 
We hail the Conqueror as He sprung 
From earth's embrace, which from its caves 
Heaved like a rush of ocean-waves, 
As tho' by dying Death fierce stung. 

But man, amazed, stands mute — he sees 
The yawning ground, and thinks it strange 
Earth held Him not wdthin its range ; 
No eye to read these mysteries, 
All strange, when rose the Eternal Beam, 
Tho' light around, he doubting stood, 
And when the glories set in blood, 
Bewildered, seemed as in a dream. 


And tho', forth from the Undying Word, 
In bonds of Death, he heard, tis done, 
He could not think the Victory won, 
Could not receive a conquering Lord — 
And now, the Tomb he cannot span — 
Why held it not the immortal clay ? 
So slow is faith to grasp the Way, 
So deeply sunk the mind of man ! 

Man reads the signs of morn and eve, 
Can tell when skies are foul or fair, 
Can give the sun and moon their share, 
And seasons in their course receive — 
But when the Sun of Truth arose, 
He would not own the Lord of Day, 
Nor trust his eye to track His way, 
Prom His up-rising to His close. 

shame on Man ! so slow of heart, 
That tho' in that portentous hour, 
Signs numberless around him pour, 

1 AM he will not hail thou art ! 

He sees a stair 'twixt earth and heav'n, 
But gropes about the Ladder's foot ; 
Tho' on the top the glories shoot, 
He will not mount, bv doubts back-driven. 


But as, when springs the sun, steam forth 
Dank dews and vapours of the night, 
So when the Day-Spring shed his light, 
It shewed but darkness of the earth : 
But now, Victor of Death, He flings 
Full light where'er His glories stream, 
And Faith awakes, as from a dream, 
And hails Him rising on His wings. 


Awake, awake ! hark how the wood rings, 
Winds whisper, and the busy springs 

A concert make ; 

Awake, awake 
Man is the high-priest, and should rise 
To offer up the sacrifice. 

Henry Vaughas. 


There is a mystic symphony, heard in this lower sphere, 
If bnt the heart responsive move, nor the ear forget to hear, 
A sound of mighty lands to Him who rules the Heav'n and 

An echo of the angelic song, erst sung at nature's birth. 
You hear it in the solemn pause, when mountain, lake, and 

In silence breathe their happiness, and all is hushed and still, 

PKAISE. 261 

When not a ripple crisps the wave, nor zephyr moves the tree, 
And all created things of earth pour a silent liturgy, 
A breathing pause of deepest awe, as owning, in that hour, 
Subjection to their rightful King in presence of His power : 
You. hear it when the gentle south in whispering murmurs 

Soft genial showers from the sky, and odours from its wings, 
When gladness lights the buoyant air, and every herb and 

With myriad tribes of winged things respond in joyous glee, 
When, floating on the spicy breeze, pours forth the song of 

With mingling sounds of busy man, and voice of lowing 

herds — 
These are the gentler notes of nature's skill, preluding as 

they sing 
The general concert still in store to praise the Eternal King. 


Go, ask thine heart that guides the ear, if that be tuned to 

How sound to thee the elements when they their voices raise 1 
Hast thou a soul to rise on high, and ride the tempest's 

And revel in the stormy joy the rushing thunder brings ? 

262 PRAISE. 

Heaf'st thou the moan of rising winds when seas are hid in 

And sighing of the gale denotes the storm is in His fist ? 
For now the elements awake, as issuing fresh from sleep, 
And many a cave gives forth its voice, and many a restless 

Then the rude North his clarion sounds to rouse the powers 

of air, 
For now each satellite of song is bid his trump prepare — 
And the sea begins to hum his bass, now in the breaker's 

Now as in ridging foam it rolls its waves along the shore, 
And every rock an echo finds, while each basaltic range . 
As organ pipes give forth their voice to join this concert 

strange : 
And now in one wild harmony all nature seems to vie, 
Winds, waves, and echoing thunder-bursts, that roar through- 
out the sky. 
When thus the elements, let loose, in mighty force uprear 
Their sounding trumpets of alarm, the weak ones shrink for 

fear : 
The beasts and birds their covert seek, and leave the air and 

As all unfit to take a part in such boisterous revelry, 
Hie to their homes to rest secure, deep in their holes and 


PRAISE. 263 

Safe from the driving storms of wind, and dashing of the 

waves : 
E'en the bold sun the scene hath left, and westward veils his 

While o'er the broad expanse of earth night's shadows slowly 

spread ; 
Rages the tempest far and wide, and swathes with gloom her 

While sea and land one voice respond to her harmony of 


Is this the concert best devised to sing the Maker's praise, 
When wild and blustering elements their mighty voices raise, 
Chance unison of many sounds that nature careless flings 
On the free and boundless fields of air, called forth from 

lifeless things, 
Sounds, yet not with music fraught, music, and yet no sense, 
A wildering mass of mingled tones without intelligence ? 
If praise there be, not in the things, 'tis in the mind that 

A God in all His works of might as in His mysteries ! 
These are the mindless instruments, which, as their voices 

A sympathetic chord awake in organs of the soul ; 
That touch the strings of many a heart and raise a fervid 

Harmonious concord with the strains of burning Seraphim. 

264 PRAISE. 

wond'rous Being great and high beyond all human scan, 
How canst Thou deign to view with love so mean a thing as 

man ! 
Yet since Thou fram'st these mighty works thy purpose to 

Thy ministers to do Thee grace, all subject to Thy will, 
And gav'st to man an ear to hear, and an open eye to see, 
A mind to know and understand, and discern Thy works in 

When breathes the gentle south her gales rich-fraught with 

odours sweet, 
Grant me a heart to tender down my offerings at Thy feet. 
And when Thou wak'st the tempest's voice, and in mysterious 

Girdest Thee with the gathering cloud, and rid'st the winged 

When, bursting from their mountain-caves, wild winds the 

ocean sweep, 
And butting clouds the thunder wakes that roars along the 

Then may the God of majesty shine forth the God of grace, 
And call me from his IToreb's cave, my mantle o'er my face. 

1 know Thee in Thy works of might, yet not in these I find 
A charm to soften care, or soothe a conscience-stricken mind, 
Not in the voice of stormy winds, not in the split ten rock, 
Not in the ground, that groans and yawns beneath the earth- 
quake's shock, 

PEAISE. 265 

Not when the cherub speeds in fire, and waves his angry 

Not in these elements of wrath I fain would read Thy name ; 
But when I hear Thy still small voice, I venture from my 

Thou wilt not plead with Thy great strength — I know that 

thou wilt save ! 
How should I praise Almighty Power, the wonders of God's 

When near I mark His robe of storm, or His footsteps in 

the sand, 
AYonders of strength in depths beneath, or in the heav'ns 

Were not His mighty agencies all ruled by mighty Love ! 
'Tis this that wakes the soul to praise, where'er his glories 

That He who made the elements hath sealed Himself as 

Hath bound me with His covenant-bond, a purchase bought 

by blood, 
And charged each thing that wrought me ill, now T work my 

endless good. 
Thus storm and vollied thunderings with the light'ning's 

forked fire, 
Are but His hand to smite the chords of the heart's secret 

lyre ; 


266 PRAISE. 

Hid in the rock secure we mark these portions of His ways, 
That wake in bosom of a son his heav'nly Father's praise. 
Praise hath long waited, Lord, for Thee, and now each living 

Sounds in the soul, by grace renewed, high lauds to the 

Eternal Kins: ! 




There seemed in vision, covering many a rood, 
A palace, fair and goodly to behold, 
Where roved bright forms all clad in robes of gold, 
The gate by arm'd men guarded, who there stood 
To bathe their swords in the intruder's blood. 
Who sought access must first inscribe his name, 
Then fight his way, to win immortal fame — 
Back stept the crowd — fainthearted, tho' they would. 
When lo, there comes a man with rapid stride, 
8 Write down my name ' — the arm'd men round him close ; 
Fierce the assault, but right and left his blow r s 
He dealt, clearing his way on every side, 
And fought to conquer, scathed tho' his form — 
Grant me like faith, Lord, to take thy heav'n by storm ! 
N 2 


Say, what this thronging world of souls, 

Black as an emmet's nest, 
A thousand millions on its rolls, 

Or toiling or at rest ? 
Go, wander where you may, 
Its teeming multitudes arrest your way. 

Yet would there seem the earth within 

A world more crowded far 
Since, all-wheres, mingling with the din, 

Comes the slow, sable car, 
The plumed pomp of death, 
Bearing its inmate to the shades beneath. 


They boldly knock, and leave demand 

To admit the passing dead j 
The gate unfolds, death waves his hand, 

They go with veiled head — 
Each moment of the day, 
Earth opes her breast, the dead may go their way. 

Where then abounds the dead man's home, 

That world within the world, 
Within whose gate no living come, 

.Howe'er his pomp's unfurled ? 
For sixty centuries, 
The inner world hath oped for him who dies. 

Tho' race on race this way have passed, 

So the Creator willed, 
Each age more thronging than the last, 

Yet are her bounds not filled — 
Still gapes her mouth full wide 
With an insatiate thirst that will not be denied. 

How vast this sepulchre ! still room, 

Howe'er man calls for space — 
Tho' countless myriads own the doom 

Pronounced on Adam's race ! 
Where have these myriads gone ? 
Where rests the warrior when his work is done ? 


Knock at the Tomb — no busy hum 

Besounds of worlds below ; 
Pierce the earth's bowels, all is gloom, 

All hushed, nor joy nor woe — 
Shave off her grassy soil, 
But a few feet will soon reward your toil. 

They go, resolve into the dust, 
Their bones all scattered round — 

Earth guards her own, a solemn trust, 
Since earth our being found — 

No need of wide domains 

To him, who asks six feet by two for gains. 

We too this inner world must tread, 

We too our summons wait : 
Yet shrink not from its portals dread — 

Who made can new-create, 
And from each clod of earth, 
Wake up his child to an immortal birth. 

Soon shall the inner world unfold 

Its gates, to close no more, 
Pom' back its multitudes untold, 

The dead from death restore — 
Blest who in Christ shall rise, 
To find new worlds in joys of Paradise ! 


Luke xi. 24—26. 

The evil spirit forth may go 
And leave the human breast, 

Range o'er dry places to and fro 
In restless search for rest, 

Let not man cheer his soul, and deem 

Vice vanished as a troubled dream ! 

If of his own free will he went, 
And nought usurp his place, 

If still the heart be earthward bent, 
Untenanted by grace, 

Of his free will he comes to claim 

The house inscribed with his name. 


What finds he there ? an empty mind, 
Thoughts baseless, wild and wand' ring, 

No Power of power hath come to bind 
The affections to their rightful King — 

He finds a cleansed and garnished breast, 

A house prepared, without a guest. 

He sees, mayhap, a goodly shew, 
Gilded with ornaments of pride, 

Moralities and aimings low, 
Phylacteries full deep and wide, 

And idols ranged as on a shelf, 

With none to rule and guard but Self. 

He marks all furnished to his hand — 
He loves the semblances of grace — 

He hastes to enrol them of his band, 
Auxiliaries to mask his face — 

He comes, that same dark spirit of ill, 

He comes with seven more wicked still ! 

And who should hinder ? shall the bar 
Of faint resolves, or the loud cry 

Of a roused conscience, or the star 
Of glimmering reason strength defy ? 

Within a spirit's grasp what might 

Of man can s wslj these fiends of night ? 


But if Christ comes, the Lord of power, 

He waits no going forth at will, 
But casts them headlong in that hour, 

And bids His grace the bosom fill — 
And then what spirit of the abyss 
May dare confront a soul of His ! 

N 5 



There is a mighty continent, 

Far in the western sea, 
Toward which full many an eye is bent, 

And many a votive knee, 
Since first Columbus turned his bark, 

And ploughed the watery realm, 
Floating alone like Noah's ark, 

With God to guide the helm. 

'Twere long to tell what perils strange 

Their onward course withstood ; 
Where'er in eager search they range, 

Their steps were tracked with blood : 
Like flights of locusts, of each name 

Europe her legions poured, 
The soldier eager for his fame, 

The miser for his hoard. 


And tho' for centuries they throng 

The seas that lash its shore, 
Roving its breadth of coast along, 

Still forth fresh myriads pour. 
The old world hears the trump resound, 

And many a firm knit band 
A right and title seek to found, 

Within the promised land. 

In vain the old Atlantic roars, 

Like a wild beast at bay, 
Bids hence the crowds that near its shores, 

And yawns to engulph its prey, 
Still on and on in troops they haste, 

Thro' dangers thick to fight ; 
Fancy hath lighted up the waste, 

With visions of the night. 

One thing of all the wealth of earth 

They seek 'mid toils untold, 
Eager to risk their all of worth 

To gain that one thing, gold. 
The cry of gold's a spell of power, 

It stirs the inmost soul, 
It sped the old world, in that hour, 

Like horses toward the goal. 


The burning lust of boundless gain 

Spurs many a willing slave, 
To share a life of toil and pain, 

Or tempt a watery grave. 
Patience and fortitude abound, 

And skill and strength of mind — 
There every virtue might be found 

With every vice combined. 

Long search they, where the treasures lie, 

Till mines were drained and spent, 
And now again they wake the cry, 

Like hounds on a fresh scent — 
For lo, a track that spreads its board 

By the Pacific wave, 
Proves, when upturned, with treasure stored, 

To tempt the bold and brave. 

And Fame the old world shakes around, 

Blowing her trump in glee — 
All start from slumber as the sound 

Comes booming o'er the sea : 
And the old tale once more is told — 

A tale to make one sigh — 
The end of all this thirst for gold, 

To toil, to weep, to die ! 


Can then no golden mine be found, 

That's worth its golden name, 
That will not prove an empty sound, 

Vain as the blast of fame ? 
Leave we these children of the clay 

Where the gold rivers roll, 
Whose sordid bodies fit pourtray 

Their sordidness of soul. 

There are who court the tempest's shocks — 

They too in search of ore — 
Where rear their frowning heads the rocks 

Of frost-bound Labrador, 
They court well-pleased the wintry north 

Mid toils and pains untold — 
What spell constrains them to go forth ? 

What streams or mines of gold ? 

Not for the treasures of the earth, 

They pitch their dwellings here, 
Where stored up snow-storms have their birth 

To rule the livelong year — 
Yet gold they seek, for gold their aim, 

Nor sow they to the wind ; 
They seek a gem, a thing of name, 

And what they seek, they find. 


Within the heart of yon swart race, 

There is a treasure stored, 
The riches of a God of grace, 

Free gifts from Heav'n's Lord. 
In many a form of humblest mien, 

By Satan's chains once bound, 
Gold of the kingdom may be seen, 

In rich abundance found. 

Ye holy men of God, whose life, 

To selfish aims foresworn, 
Wears out mid elemental strife, 

To gather souls new-born, 
A rich reward awaits your toil, 

When all of life is o'er, 
When gold is brought, the goodly spoil 

Of icegirt Labrador. 

For in the city of the King 

Where joys await untold, 
Where the redeemed his praises sing, 

Brow-bound with crowns of gold, 
Than all the stores of wealth displayed. 

On California's shore, 
More choice shall prove, in balance weighed, 

One gem from Labrador ! 



Lone, mid the flight of ages, 

I sought my God and King, 
"Where the wintry torrent rages, 

Where breathe the gales of spring ; 
But seasons interchanging 

Came on and passed away, 
Time found me, in his ranging, 

On desert-hills astray. 

I thought me of the hours, 

When, at my Monarch's feet, 
I sat in Eden's bowers, 

In fellowship most sweet ; 
But now from thence forth-driven, 

Since I drove forth my Lord, 
I fly the gate, heart-riven, 

Where flames the seraph-sword. 



As one condemned to sorrow, 

I sought on every side, 
And felt, each weary morrow, 

As a forgotten bride ; 
I asked, nor cared for chidings, 

Where I might find my rest, 
And heard some rumoured tidings 

Of Islands of the Blest. 

But a heaven of fancy's weaving 

Is not for Adam's race, 
Nor, by its hues deceiving, 

Could I his footsteps trace — 
Some marks on Horeb's mountain, 

Mid blasted wastes I found, 
But there no life-girt fountain — 

It seemed forbidden ground. 

Yet know I well each token, 

Each footstep of my Lord, 
The words that He had spoken, 

The flashings of his sword ; 
But a strange dread crept o'er me, 

I dared not to His side, 
Shrunk, as He stood, before me, 

Tho' His betrothed bride. 


From age to age no gleaming 

Lit up my loved one's form, 
The distant glimpses seeming 

Like flashes in a storm — 
Somewhat the light revealed, 

As back the veil was thrown ; 
My sins no more concealed, 

I felt no more His own. 

At length beamed forth in splendour 
, My life -creating Sun : 
He came, his bride's Defender — 

All shadowy doubts were gone ! 
The world beheld with scorning, 

Would not believe his word — 
I saw, in light of morning, 

I saw, and knew my Lord ! 

But Oh ! how marred his features ! 

His bruised form how bowed ! 
I saw Him, fore His creatures 

His royal glories shroud. 
Yet could I not forsake Him, 

More loved for all their hate — 
He died — I could not wake Him ; 

Wept, as one desolate. 



Again He comes — how cheering 

The glories of His grace ! 
His bridal garments wearing, 

Light beaming in His face. 
But when I deemed that never 

Again should shades of night 
From His communion sever — 

He vanished from my sight ! 

Mourn not, nor rend thy tresses, 

Thou Bridegroom's loved one ! 
He notes thy deep distresses, 

Where for a while He's gone — 
Yield not to sad repining, 

Tho 5 He his glories shroud : 
Thy light is from His shining — 

The sun's behind a cloud. 

His Throne is in the Heav'n, 

His Footstool is the Earth- 
To Him all power is given, 

He wakes to a new -birth : 
Put on thy robes of beauty, 

The jewels of His love ! 
He lights each lowly duty 

With beamings from above. 


'Tis thine, thro' life's long travel, 

To render back his rays, 
To mark His plans unravel 

The texture of thy days : 
When thou thy soul shalt render 

In full view of thy crown, 
Thy Sun, in sevenfold splendour, 

Shall never more go down. 


But will God truly dwell 
On this sin-stricken earth, 

Rescue it from the grasp of hell, 
And raise it to new-birth P 

Who shall prepare a fit abode 

A Temple for the indwelling God r 

Who shall receive the King ? 

Who build Him up a shrine ? 
Let man his choicest tributes bring, 

Meet for a work divine ! 
Whate'er in earth, or air, or sea 
Abounds — as Thine, we rive to Thee. 


Earth's lofty brow He crowned 

With cedar diadems, 
Jewelled her hands, and girded round 

A belt of gold and gems, 
llobed her in pearly seas, whose dye 
Pourtrayed her queenly majesty. 

Yet wealth or skill of man 

Avail not, as of old : 
The high-browed arch's breadth of span, 

The roof of fretted gold, 
The long-drawn aisle, the columned height, 
Like forest-stems in golden light, 

The broad and ponderous tower, 

Its peal of silver tones, 
The window-tracery's rainbow-shower 

That gems the pavement-stones — 
Not such the Lofty One commands, 
A temple framed by human hands. 

Let Spirit with spirit dwell ! 

For tho' His Presence fills 
His range of worlds from lieav'n to hell, 

And the everlasting hills, 
How shall He fellowship dispense, 
Where lacks a like intelligence ? 


The heart is His abode — 
He plants His banner there, 

Frames a fit temple for a God, 
And rears a house of prayer : 

Where'er a child of His is found 

He dwells, and all His gifts abound. 

There spreads the sacrifice — 

There drops the sprinkled blood — 

There perfumes from the altar rise 
In solemn solitude — 

There stands the bread-table to prove 

The fulness of adoring love. 

There pours the seven branched lamp 

The glory of its beams, 
Pierces all corners dark and damp, 

Drives far the nightly dreams, 
Till 'neath the Word's life-giving ray. 
Xight yields its empire to the day. 

Thus furnished by the Hand 
That built it up a shrine, 

The heart, by an Enchanter's wand, 
Is framed, a work divine — 

And now, it stands a fit abode, 

A temple for the indwelling God. 


Let but the Spirit reign, 

There need no gems of art — 
All other temples are but vain, 

Save a sin-humbled heart : 
He, who enthrones eternity, 
Deigns, child of man, to dwell with thee ! 


O Lord ! these people ask for food, 
They claim the wished supply, 

Thou bid'st me deal the promised good- 
But who, Lord ! am I ? 

Less than the least, how shall I speak 
AY ho am a child 'fore Thee ? 

How should the weak sustain the weak, 
Blind, cause the blind to see ? 

What if, thro' my mishap, the board 

Provisionless be found ? 
What if, thro' me, the fruitful word 

Fall fruitless to the ground ? 


How should I bear the thought that I, 
Bound to observe Thy will, 

When came the hung'red for supply, 
Dismissed them hung'red still ! 

Yet since 'tis all of mine to spread 
The board at Thy command, 

Since not for me to cause the bread 
Spring from its Maker's hand, 

I seek, O Lord, I seek Thy face, 

" To whom all gifts belong ; 
Weakness shall never bar Thy grace — 
In weakness I am strong. 

I gird me in Thy strength, as one 
To Thy loved service bound, 

Nor doubt, whene'er my work is done, 
Some fruit by Thee is found. 

I look from off myself to Thee, 

For in Thy life I live — 
My hope is in Thy mercy free — 

give, that I may give ! 


2 Kings iii. 

What ails the triple host 
Hovering o'er Moab's laud ? 

The sword, ere now their boast, 
Drops from the palsied hand ; 

Drought sweeps its way, and lost 
They sink upon the sand. 

who shall help afford ? 

Thirst burns the throat like flame- 
List ! Judah speaks the word, 
And calls upon the Name : 

1 Is there no prophet of the Lord ? ' 

He said : Elisha came. 


Wrath flushed the prophet's brow ; 

To Israel's King he spake : 
1 Go to thy gods, before them bow, 

Bid them for help awake ! 
No word or glance of mine had'st thou, 

Wer't not for Judah's sake ! ' 

Then, as unmeet to sing, 

While fiery passions rave, 
He bade a minstrel sound his string, 

Drank in the tones it gave — 
The song bore calmness on its wing, 

As oil controls the wave. 

The Word, on music borne, 

Came from the Mercy-seat : 
c Let them but wait the morn, 

The water-floods shall meet, 
And Moab too, like reaped corn, 

Lie prostrate at their feet.' 

Hail to the power of song ! 

The heav'n-begotten lay ! 
How oft, when roars the maddened throng, 

Like a wild bull at bay, 
It flings its mighty tones among, 

And wins itself a way ! 

O 2 


'Tis not the trump alone, 

The war- drum's muttering roll, 

The pipe's shrill note, the clarion's tone. 
That awes the storm-racked soul ; 

The softest strains the passions own, 
And yield to their control. 

AYhen gentle winds arise 

And stir the o'erbranching trees, 

In the hot noon of summer-skies, 
There's music in the breeze ; 

And a whole world of harmonies 
The slumbering senses seize. 

All nature lends her aid 

To soothe and still the breast; 

The song of birds, in leafy glade, 
At morn, or brightening west ; 

E'en the sea's roar, as tho' it said ; 
' Eest, troubled spirit, rest ! ' 

But strains of nature's choice, 

Or earth-born minstrelsy. 
Tail the drooped spirit to rejoice, 

Or bow the adoring knee : 
Praise waits the Source of praise, whose voice 

Fills heav'n with jubilee ! 


To Him the song is due 

Who gave the song its fire, 
As when its gentle tones it threw 

O'er Saul's infuriate ire — 
The maddening fiend the magic knew, 

As woke the Psalmist's lyre. 

Such be thy heav'nly power, 

When thoughts my mind beset, 
And o'er the dark'ning vision lower, 

And rouse, and vex, and fret — 
Thy strains shall cheer me in that hour, 

There is deliverance yet. 

Let Music know its Source, 

On wings of seraphs given, 
Glide in the soul by gentlest force, 

Or be by whirlwinds driven, 
'Twib! bear me onwards in my course, 

To swell the lauds of Heav'n ! 



Who would not the call obey, 
That demands a verse from thee ? 
What thy wish then, lady, say, 
Of the earth or of the sea ? 
Give a burden to my lay, 
And a subject to my pen ; 
Wheresoe'er thy wishes stray, 
I would echo them again. 

Enviest thou those dames of old, 
Who, as far-famed legends tell, 
Where the tide of battle rolled, 
And the sword of ruin fell, 

THE WISH. 295 

Shone, like stars of living light, 

In resplendent armonr dight, 

With the target on their breast, 

And the spear within its rest, 

Or anon, with sword in hand, 

Eye and lip of prond command, 

Hewing their remorseless way, 

In the murderous battle- day, 

While their tresses streamed from far 

O'er the ruthless ranks of war, 

And their wild arms raised on high, 

Waving in the azure sky, 

Deeds achieved no tongue hath told — 

Enviest thou these dames of old ? 

c No, I envy not ! their fame 
Is the cost of woman's shame — 
Evil are the times that call 
Maidens from their father's hall, 
Spite their native grace, to assume 
Flaming brand and nodding plume. 
War hath little charm for me, 
Or the shout of victory. 
What tho' o'er a soldier's grave 
Hiorh the blood-stained banners wave. 

296 THE WISH. 

Triumph grace my country's side, 
While each cheek is flushed with pride, 
And each tongue repeats the story, 
And each eye reflects the glory, 
Ah ! I hear the orphan's cry, 
On the heedless breezes cast, 
Louder than the trumpet-blast, 
Or the shout that rends the sky. 
Eather would I go apart, 
Commune with a bleeding heart, 
Near the couch of suffering creep, 
Victor, with the vanquished weep. 
Joy I not in others' woe — 
Tears must cause my tears to flow : 
Glad I part with parting life, 
That my country may be free, 
But I join no battle-strife ; 
War hath little charm for me.' 

What then seekest thou ? a throne ? 
High upraised on Parian stone, 
Figured rich "with deeds of kings, 
Poets' wild imaginings ? 
Would' st thou sit, a nation's gaze, 
Centre bright of glory's rays, 

THE WISH. 297 

Robed in gold, in jewels bound, 
With thy courtiers gathered round, 
None an equal's right to claim, 
None to share thy magic name ? 
Enviest thou the lofty mien 
Of a second Virgin-Queen, 
Looking down on all below, 
This thy chief desire ? 

c No ! 
Far the mark thy guesses go. 
Never wished I regal power, 
In my fancy's wildest hour : 
I would not bestow a breath 
To outshine Elizabeth. 
Mine's a lowlier wish than this, 
And yet higher in its bliss, 
And yet nobler in its aim, 
And yet prouder in its claim.' 

What thy wish then ? since nor war 
Nor ambition's throned car, 
Tempts a fond, tho' vain desire, 
What shall wake my answering lyre ? 
Sweeter scenes than these allure thee, 
And with softer words conjure thee. 

O 5 

298 THE WISH. 

From her lap the warm earth showers 

Opening buds and breathing flowers : 
Joyous birds of every wing 
Sparkling in the sunbeams sing. 
What tho' fallen from its birth, 
Heav'n still mingles with the earth ; 
Trees of richest fragrance grow, 
Purest waters lulling flow : 
Many an Eden blooms beside, 
AVoos to win thee as a bride, 
While the air around, above, 
Breathes of balm, and breathes of love. 
These the scenes that flx. thine eye, 
Scenes of earth-born ecstacy, 
Scenes of bliss that knows no measure, 
In a life of changeless pleasure ? 

* Peace, no more ! beyond thy quest 
The wish that rises in my breast. 
Higher thoughts my mind employ 
Than the world's fantastic joy, 
Than the fancy's fondest aim, 
Than the brazen trump of fame. 
There's a voice within my breast, 
Gently calling me to rest ; 

THE WISH. 299 

Heard above the ocean's roar, 
Tidings of a happier shore. 
Not on earth my wishes centre, 
Bnt since all of earth thy dream, 
What should win thy mind to enter 
On a high celestial theme ? 
I would seek for grace to be 
Dead to this world's vanity. 
Tho' my heart is prone to ill, 
And earth's shadows haunt me still, 
T would wish the spell were broken 
By the word my Lord hath spoken. 
Askest thou my chief desire ? 
'Tis to burn with hallowed fire — 
'lis each day with Him to spend, 
And His lowly steps attend. 
In the mom I wake with Him, 
Object of my heart's affection, 
And, as shoots the bright sunbeam, 
Muse upon his Kesurrection. 
When the noon-tide heats oppress, 
I lean on His arm awhile, 
And an inborn happiness 
Doth the weary sense beguile. 
And when softly o'er my soul, 
Evening shadows slowly roll, 

300 THE WISH. 

Then I haste, with willing feet, 
Where I see the blood-stained sign, 
Him, the Friend of souls, to greet, 
As He spreads the bread and wine. 
If my sobbings check my breath, 
'Tis to hear Him mournful sigh, 
" All ! my soul is e'en to death 
Sorrowful exceedingly ! " 
Not for worlds would I delay 
When He rises to be gone, 
As He takes his mournful way 
To the garden with His own ; 
There I muse and weep, to see 
Him, who made the earth and sky, 
Worm-like, agonizing, lie 
In thy groves, Gethsemane ! 
' Tis a theme to bow my heart — 
But there's solace in my tears, 
For His sufferings impart 
Faith, to check obtrusive fears, 
Love, to feed upon His smile, 
Peace, to calm a troubled breast, 
Hope, to soar among the blest, 
Joy, all sorrow to beguile — 
for strength to raise to Thee 
An unceasing liturgy ! 

THE WISH. 301 

But why speak of this to one, 
Who would place his highest bliss, 
In the baubles of a throne, 
In a vain world's restlessness ? 
Seek a mind from folly free, 
And an eye toward heav'n bending, 
Thither is the way-mark tending — 
I have tried it — follow me ! ' 

Did I wrong thee then to deem 
Thine an eye to sparkle bright 
With a vain world's fitful light, 
Caught by some fantastic dream ? 
Ah ! I wrong myself much more 
To appear a worldling-slave, 
With no hope beyond the grave, 
Nor a wish on high to soar. 
But thy wish is mine for thee — - 
Higher joys than tongue can tell, 
Brighter far than eye can see, 
Fathomless, unsearchable, 
Are the hopes the Lord inspires, 
Is the love His Spirit fires. 
Beauteous tho' the earth appear, 
It is doomed a wreck to lie, 

302 THE WISH. 

And all pomp and pleasure here 
Bear the stamp of vanity. 
Blessed then who, day by day, 
Lowly Avalk the narrow way, 
With Christ's sign upon their brow, 
And His love within their heart, 
Bold His service to avow, 
In the strength His smiles impart. 
This thy choicest wish ? Ah then ! 
I would echo it again. 
Heav'n hath richest stores for thee, 
Life and Immortalitv ! 


Rein up your tongue ! 'tis as a horse 
Ply-bitten on a summer day, 
Trampling on all that balk its way, 
No hand to curb its headlong course ; 
Thus with the spirit of evil stung, 
Whether aroused by love or spite, 
Toward friend or foe, by day or night, 
Scorning all checks of rule or right, 
Rages man's tongue ! 

Itself unruled, it claims to rule, 
Tho' smallest member of our frame ; 
As the curb serves the steed to tame, 
Controls the heat it cannot cool, 


Or as the proudest vessel's swung 
To obey the movements of the helm, 
Or as a spark may waste a realm, 
And with a fiery flood o'erwhelm — 
Such is the tongue ! 

But strange howe'er it be to mark 
What power in smallest things to bend, 
To rule, to bow, to force, to rend, 
The tongue, the curb, the helm, the spark — 
What springs the spark the flames that sprung ? 
How guides the helm the vessel's course ? 
What gives the curb its biting force, 
As champs in vain the impatient horse ? 
What moves the tongue ? 

Ask, whence yon burning lava-stream, 
That rolls its sluggish course adown 
The mountain side, till tower and town 
And forest vanish as a dream ? 
Forth from the mouth the flood is flung — 
Nor this the source — deep hidden lies 
The secret fountain, whence its rise, 
That hurls the torrent toward the skies — 
Thus with the tongue ! 


Works in the heart the hidden spell, 
Which, like a boiling fount of fire, 
Acts on each thought or fierce desire, 
Itself all set on flame of hell — 
From its polluted depths are wrung 
All ills that claim to rule and reign, 
Binding man's limbs as in a chain, 
While all his struggles are in vain — 
Such is the tongue ! 

He, who would wish to stand apart 
From all the charities of life, 
Friends, brothers, children, husband, wife, 
May loose his viper- tongue to dart, 
Since there the venom-bag is hung — 
But woidd you seek to ensure the while 
The cordials that life's cares beguile, 
The foe's respect, the friend's sure smile, 
Eein up your tongue ! 

Men shun the sland'rer, wdiose delight 
Is still to gloat o'er others' faults, 
Who joys, wdien the wayfarer halts, 
And clouds each act with hues of night — 


If the heart's chords to love be strung, 
Then, roughly tho' the winds be driven, 
They bear the spicy breath of heav'n; 
No need that warning should be given, 
Rein up your tongue ! 

Lord, purify the heart by faith, 
Set Thou thy cross' standard there, 
Then shall the tongue the blessing share, 
And glorify Thy name till death — 
And when in heav'n Thy praise is sung, 
The tongue with angel-quires shall vie, 
In hallelujahs thro' the sky — 
O would you hope to sing on high, 
Rein up your tongue ! 



The same, yet somewhat changed — for time her hand hath 

The ruin is more ruinous, more deeply dark the shade, 
And highway roads have far encroached within the hallowed 

And Mammon plies his busy trade, while his hundred wheels 

go round. 

But still the gentle Aire glides on its winding way, 

As erst it caught the eager eye in my rambling boyhood's day, 

Still wears its fringe of wooded copse with patches of grey 

And merry blackberries gem the bush to tempt the ready 



And the hoar ruin still looks down from out its shattered 

While the ivy climbs the western front with gateway as of 

yore ; 
And the lanterns still are there, towards which we loved to 

By the rude crumbling winding stair, half broken down by 


And still the firm built columns stand, to guard the roofless 

While at their base the fallen mass hides many a nameless 

And still the transept-gallery invites from side to side, 
And the convent-garden spreads below, gay in its summer 


What tho' the choir be broken down by an unknown hand of 

The windows void of tracery, and vanished half the tower, 
Fragments of cloisters scattered round with ruined cells and 

A confused mingling of remains, 'mong trees and broken walls, 

They clustering rise before me here, as signs of days gone by, 
I see and know them now as thev met rav vouthful eve — 


I love them all the more, these ruins on either hand, 
Than if restored to perfect form by an enchanter's wand. 

'Tis thus with things of earth — man may his empire claim, 
And call the aid of trees and stones, while he builds himself 

a name, 
But strange it is to see, how, if his strength decay, 
All things of nature rouse themselves to rob him of his sway. 

It needeth not the hand of man to undo what he hath done, 
The bursting bomb or battering ram, or mine to underrun, 
The ivy climbs upon the walls, and claws the stones around, 
While blust'ring winds and dashing rains soon bring them 
to the ground. 

The trees spring up and wind their roots to push aside the 

While thorns and thistles haste as guests to throng art's 

choicest halls ; 
The daintiest works she loved to carve, the cost of many a 

They in a night deface with slime without remorse or fear. 

What care they for the sainted prayer, what care they for the 

What care they for the stoled priests that paced the cloisters 

dim — 


'Tis true they stood aback, till man was up and gone, 

And then they knew no sacredness to guard the lifeless stone. 

If man can keep his own, 'tis well — if not, then let him go, 
The trees respect no parchment -deeds, nor ancient records 

know ; 
Fresh 'neath their Maker's seal they hold their title to the 

Ere Man his breath of being drew, formed by the Maker's 


Thus low and grovelling shrubs obtrude in the abbott's seat 

of pride, 
And nettles throng the chancel space, the altar- stones beside, 
As if to whom these w T alls devote were not their common 

The Maker of his image Man, and every meanest thing. 

It is as tho' all Nature loved to make such scenes its sport ; 
The winds here rush in gathered blasts to hold a demon court, 
"Rude rain and rattling hailstorms haste to spread their deluge 

While forked lightnings smite the tower, and thunders shake 

the ground. 

Thus, as time speeds along in his impetuous course, 

Now crumbling by a still decay, and now by crushing force, 


He leaves his myrmidons to work, and gives them up his trust, 
Till they have wrought the doom decreed, that dust return 
to dust. 

Yet let it not be ever deemed, the powers that God hath made, 
Care not to own His sovereignty and bow T the obedient head ; 
His rule they serve, His will they do, but not man's, steeped 

in sin — 
For lo, the teeming Earth's the Lord's, and all that is therein. 

They give their ready hand to aid where man would build a 

Nor grudge the destined stone and wood to grace a work 

They passive own his sovereign power, when he puts forth 

his skill, 
And cheerful toil from night to day, as slaves to do his will ; 

But let him once forego his place, down stepping from his 

The things they once had given to him they call again their 

The winds rouse up their boisterous strength, gush waters 

from their beds, 
Fearless upsprings the herbage green, and its glittering 

mantle spreads. 


What tho' the saintly edifice was reared by priest and king, 
And here for centuries the throngs their rich oblations bring, 
What tho' the joyous bells from yonder tower were rung, 
And here the matin chaunt, and vesper hymn was sung — 

Of all that once this valley graced now nothing more remain, 
The cloistered habitants are gone with all their saintly train ; 
The dead around no power can claim to stay these crumbling 

Or raise the choral liturgy, or fill these empty stalls. 

I little thought when I began, my musings thus would stray, 
For the sight of Kirkstall sprung my mind to a Fulnec holiday, 
And I meant to take a passing glance of days that are bygone, 
And wreathe a chaplet to the Mends I long ago had known. 

But thoughts of human friendship changed to thoughts of 

human pride, 
For age a deeper halo casts as I stand these walls beside ; 
Nor yet are found so far removed the scenes my fancy drew, 
For Time's a busy element, mingling in all we do. 

As here we- mark on crumbling wrecks his footsteps in the 

So must the sons of fallen man all moulder 'neath his hand : 


My boyhood friends, where are they ? with the days they 

sported here. 
Gone ! and I too am called to go, for my days are dry and 


Here all proclaim decay and death ; 'neath these disjointed 

Full many a son of lordly name hath laid his mouldering 

bones ; 
Time, as he tracks his onward way, points to the dust beneath, 
And warns each denizen of earth, swift comes the hour of 


Yet while these walls are scattered round, now never more to 

There is a seed my frame within that fits it for the skies, 
And when the Trumpet wakes the dead, man shall his rule 

And in full strength of endless life with his Redeemer reign. 


Why mourn the sweep of time's ruthless hand, 

As you stand by this ruin gray ? 
'Tis one but of many throughout the land, 

That recal the times far away, 
Times of rude faith, and ruder men — 
God grant they never may come again ! 

"lis true there awakes in the busy mind 

A feeling akin to woe, 
TV'hen man's monuments prove but the sport of the wind, 

That rejoices to bring him low, 
When nought survive of the vaunts of his pride, 
But the crumbling wall and the green hill side. 


The keep still stands, and the oriel shaft, 

And the court, as a grazing ground, 
And the vaults where menials pursued their craft, 

While the moat encircled them round ; 
Enough to show how it stood in that hour 
When it gazed around in the pride of its power. 

It crested the crown of a cone -formed hill, 

In the land of moor and mere ; 
The foundation deep sunk, the enclosure they fill, 

And a frowning fortress uprear, 
As an eagle his eyrie plants on high, 
To sweep a far range thro' an open sky. 

On the mountains it fixed its lordly gaze, 

And bade them rejoice in its power, 
As a spider each part of its lordship surveys, 

Looking out from its central tower ; 
It vaunted to rule as a thing of name — 
But who show their pride cannot hide their shame ! 

All around from the north to the distant west, 

As they stood the mountains stand ; 
And they look with scorn on man's broken crest, 

And the sceptre dropped from his hand ; 
And some falcon they send from their deep recess, 
To ask what news in this wilderness. 
p 2 


Toward the south slope down to Morecombe bay, 

Eich fields and wooded lands, 
While the Kent dashes on thro' its short-lived way, 

As in haste to be lost in the sands ; 
All around 'tis a scene of glorious bliss, 
That shames a storm-beaten crest like this. 

Had it cowered its head in yon lonely vale, 

At the Eoman ford beneath, 
It had ceased to proclaim its own sad tale, 

And so passed to the shades of death ; 
Tho' there Bacchus lives, and his altar nigh, 
He presumes not to flaunt the evening sky.* 

I cannot weep for the days that are gone, 

When this castle stood in its pride, 
When down crouched for defence the lowly town, 

As a lamb by its mother's side, 
All pale with fright, as the story tells, 
Lest the Scotch should swoop down o'er the brow of Shap 

* About a mile from Kendal, at Water Crook, so termed from a peculiar bend 
in the river Kent, is the site of the Roman Station or Town, Concangium. Some 
Roman remains, found there, are built up in the walls of a Farmstead that 
occupies the spot. They consist chiefly of a monumental inscription, not yet 
wholly effaced, an altar without inscription supposed to have been erected to 
Bacchus, and a headless figure in bas-relief, representing, some say Bacchus, others 


There's no comfort in dread, for who delights 

In a life of incessant alarms ? 
Small leisure to gaze at the belted knights, 

"When sudden the cry rings, to arms ! 
Tis better to rest one's wearied frame, 
Nor fear on awaking, the town in flame ! 

As time deals with the pencil so he deals with the pen, 

He mellows the harsher tone ; 
There's pleasure, no doubt, in the sword's bright sheen, 

In the taste of its point there is none — 
Fancy may paint what is fair and new, 
But 'tis better that fact should reveal what is true. 

Those were days of blood and days of gloom, 

All dark as Egyptian night ; 
Scant indeed were the glimpses the sky to relume 

With the rays of a life-giving light — 
The minds of men like the winds were driven — 
No peace on the earth, and small hope of the heav'n. 

What had Eome to do with this distant land 

That she twice must assert her claim ? 
In the vale below Pagan Eome bared her hand, 

And here the Pope built up a name ! * 
Away with them both ! they have gone to their den ! 
God grant they never may come again ! 

* The records of Kendal Castle are obscure. The first historical notice of its 


Light brake o'er the hills, and the distant bay 

Glanced forth the rejoicing beam, 
And the sprites of Rome slunk, skulking, away, 

Like the shades of a noxious dream, 
And the castle fell, as a tyrant's throne — 
Truth's a surer defence than mortar and stone. 

Yet let the hoar ruins abide for Christ's sake, 
Since they speak of the days that are gone ; 

A feeling of joy they may serve to awake, 
And warn lest our gifts we disown ; 

God's truth as the mountains shall ever abide, 

Tho' the bulwarks of man crumble down in their pride. 

existence dates from the xiith century. When it was dismantled is not known, 
but it is described as in ruins in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. The period of its 
existence, therefore, may well associate it with the reign of Popery in this 



Since Thou my roving soul dost bind 

In fetters of Thy love, 
How should I commune with a mind 

That owns no source above, 
That roams the land, the sea, the skies, 
Wrapped up in earthborn extacies ! 

Tor what the spacious heav'n to me, 
The splendour of its light, 

And what the pleasant things I see 
In numbers infinite, 

But bright reflections of His face, 
, Who seals me, subject of his grace ! 


Shall an adopted son and heir, 
When 'fore his ravished eyes, 

The glories of a world so fair 
In richest beauty rise, 

Stand, buried in a blind amaze, 

The sun outblotted by his rays ? 

O'er stretched above my head 
The curtained sky is flung, 

With myriad spangles garnished — 
"Where the gold lamp is hung, 

Neath which the chequered floor is seen, 

Marbled, or carpeted with green. 

Thro' its unmeasured bound, 

In ever- varied change, 
Mountain and lake, and fruitful ground, 

And the broad forest-range, 
The river's flow, the bright blue skies, 
Eenew the scenes of Paradise. 

How glorious is the earth ! 

How far more glorious He, 
In whom these glories have their birth, 

Who spread the glassy sea, 
And all earth's treasured bounty lent, 
Housing- man's form, as in a tent ! 


Let but the senses sway, 

Let but these glories shine, 
And man, tho' fall'n, a child of day, 

Must own the work divine — 
The mind is pleased, and praises shower, 
To celebrate Almighty power. 

Yet what the praise at best 
But of a well-fed slave, 
Awhile content with food and rest, 
, He counts all good and brave — 
Yet feels, amid the abounding grace, 
Himself but of an alien race. 

Not thus with those who own 

Yearnings of filial love, 
Look from the footstool to the throne, 

From earth to things above — 
They hear a voice within them call : 
' My God, my Father made them all.' 

A son may joy to see 

His father's palace rise, 
And note its halls of majesty, 

Its gems, and crimson dyes — 
Lost are all glories of the dome 
In this one thought — it is his home ! 
p 5 


Howe'er the gifts and grace 

His ravished eyes rejoice, 
When he beholds his father's face, 

And hears his father's voice, 
And feels the warm and welcome kiss, 
Quick fades all sense of other bliss. 

Shall he then herd with those 

Whose thoughts are fixed on sense, 

Who see the Maker's works disclose, 
Yet bid the Maker hence, 

Whose soid is ever earthward bowed, 

Whose heav'n is but a gilded cloud ? 

Such scan the walls of their abode, 

The chinks that mar its face, 
With choicest good their tables load, 

Each line of beauty trace, 
Yet Him they neither know nor fear, 
Who built the house, and placed them there. 

The sun shines all around, 

But all within is gloom, 
Content to bound within this bound 

All bliss — a living tomb : 
Like bats and owls they nightly roam, 
Some ivv-raantled tower their home. 

KING TilE GOLD. 323 

What then their praise of this world's blis 

Who pass their Maker by ? 
Big words of dreamy nothingness, 

All frothed with vanity ! 
WTio shut their eyes to the true light 
In noonday grope as in the night. 

Then ever ring the gold ! 

Heed not a gilded hue ; 
If truth may not the pencil hold, 
- All painting is untrue. 
Each busy thought and feeling sift, 
Nor lose the Giver in the gift. 

How should an earthborn strain 

Kindle the soul within, 
That, tossed with boisterous storms, would fain 

Shake off its load of sin, 
See God a Father in his Son, 
The reign of Paradise begun ! 

The deep dishonour wrought 

By unbelieving lays 
Must wake a blush, tho' rich the thought, 

And gorgeous be the phrase — 
Perish the lip that will not own 
Jehovah's universal throne ! 


Then ever ring the gold ! 

Trust not a glossy sheen ! 
Tho' bright its face, exact the mould, 

If not His image seen, 
The gold is base, and nought may claim 
But that as base, an empty fame. 

Along life's weary way, 

Thro' this dark world and wide, 
No light we need but light of day, 

Than truth no other guide — 
Trim Cowper's lamp, from heav'n lent, 
And Milton's brawny arm shall aid the steep ascent. 



And is this then the shortest day 
In my short life ? Hath thus the sun 
His briefest race of glory run, 
Quenching in night his parting ray ? 

How can I tell a day is nigh 
When death shall end my life below, 
Sum up my hours of joy and woe 
While yet the sun lights up the sky, 

Nor wait for night to toll his bell, 
But call 4ne hence to go my way, 
My last day than the shortest day 
Yet shorter far — how can I tell ? 


I cannot tell, nor need it chime 
Harsh on mine ear, that, still in store, 
Some day yet shorter than before, 
My sands of life may outrun time. 

Grant but my end of being here 
May launch me in a world of light, 
Not as this sun which sinks in night, 
Emblem of doubt, distrust, and fear. 

Enough for me the day's brief span, 
How brief soe'er the measured time, 
At noon, or eve, or morning-prime, 
Enough for me, enough for man ! 

Then fret not at the parting ray, 
Nor that your race must soon be run, 
End when it will, let but the Sun 
Blaze up to an eternal day ! 


i3g tty same &utf)or. 
7 f 2^~ '??*?, 



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